


Sehnsucht

by itsfnickingawesomeness



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angels, F/M, Guardian Angels, Heaven, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Memory Loss, Torture, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 94,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7911403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsfnickingawesomeness/pseuds/itsfnickingawesomeness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what; a high degree of intense, recurring, and often painful desire for something, especially if there’s no hope to attain the desired, or when it’s attainment is uncertain or still far away.” </p><p>Every so often, a soul is given a Guardian Angel, one to look after the human being throughout their life and bring them good fortune and happiness. Influence is forbidden, direct interference with Fate’s plans is forbidden, and above all there can be no contact between human and Angel. Nothing has changed in Heaven in millennia, and the system works to everyone’s advantages. But when a soul- a truly good soul- is subjected to so much pain and hardship, what can one angel do but break every rule known to save the one he has come to love?</p><p>For the 2016 Stucky Big Bang</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to take this time to thank everyone who made this possible!  
> -All of my lovely betas (by their Tumblrs): sharalock-holmes, camperincabinsix, santagaryen, adventuresofloserville, i-would-buy-the-flowershop, and my friend Hannah.  
> -EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS to this-girl-is, thekvengers, and my friend Surabi, for being hella awesome editors and giving the best constructive criticism in the world.  
> -My beautiful artists Caroline (ewburnthatshit- the amazing drawing of Bucky and the photoset edits linked below) and Allison (exodeerboy- the typography of the poems at the beginning of each chapter, coming soon). Teamwork makes the dream work <3  
> -Dedicated to my sister Brooke for helping brainstorm the idea and the title for this story way back.
> 
> A couple notes:  
> -Aura colors can be found at the end of each chapter  
> -This has a very "Supernatural" feel for those who watch that show  
> -Don't worry, only this prologue is in first person, haha

**[Edits](http://stuckyedits.tumblr.com/post/149640080353/edits-for-a-great-angel-fic-sehnsucht-by) and this [beautiful drawing](http://scheissedraws.tumblr.com/post/149640755246/angel-bucky-for-a-lovely-fic-by-tolkhien)!**

* * *

 

_Heavenly host high above,_

_pray for us sinners._

_Lead us not into love,_

_but deliver us from its power._

 

Earth, though it didn’t know it yet, was forever altered once human beings came to be. From the moment the first monkeys started walking upright, it set down a path that would become the most remarkable history in the universe. It was also at this moment in time that God decided that his creations did need something to observe them from on high, and to ensure that nothing was ruined nor destroyed. That was how the third class of Angels, the Seraphim, came to be- a class whose sole purpose was to aid and watch over the budding human race. The most powerful of this class were the Guardians, those directly responsible for individual humans.

 

They say that those who are the most worthy, the most deserving, the most _needing_ , receive Guardian Angels at birth. There are too many humans now for each to have their own Guardian- for even those without faith may be blessed with a watcher- but the ones who are in danger, or whose lives will truly _mean_ something to the world, are assigned an Angel. These beings follow their charges throughout their mortal lives, offering advice during hard times, giving their humans luck and patience in stressful situations, and helping them avoid injury and malady when possible. These humans are often the ones who are recorded in history as being particularly successful or brilliant or generous; angels have guided human history since the beginning, though their charges would never even know. 

 

They also say that Angels are divine beings, blessed with wisdom and grace and patience. Angels watch over all benevolently, guiding the humans under their charge with love and acceptance. They are terrible to behold in their true form, impossibly tall and blindingly bright. Wings of fire- sometimes multiple pairs- extend from their back, while innumerable weapons hang at their waists. Some more powerful Seraphs have more than one head, all radiant and awful to the mortal eye. However calm and loving they may seem, they are beings of myth and legend, and contain limitless power. Their wrath is deadly to any that stand in their path, and they can destroy as quickly as they can protect, without hesitation or mercy.

 

They say that Angels are nigh indestructible. They are beings of pure light and energy, Grace, and don’t have a physical form. Their Grace is their essence, their _being_ ; the source of their power and life, it is similar to both the blood and soul of a human. Their projections are merely like a skin, or a front they show to others. Only other Angels or magic and weapons from Heaven itself can harm them, and even then they heal quickly and are hard to obstruct. Each Angel, from the moment they are created, are trained in the art of war, no matter what their duties may be in the future. Even Guardians must know how to fight in order to protect, and each Angel may be called upon at any time to serve in Heaven’s army host.

 

What “they” don't say is that sometimes, Guardian Angels _really_ hate their jobs. Humans are really fucking stupid, okay, and a majority of the time they don't listen to their Angels anyway. Sometimes Angels get particularly _difficult_ charges, ones who get sick _constantly_ and are always throwing themselves headfirst into suicidal actions. Of course, there's nothing they can do about it, so they have to sit by with their divine _wisdom_ and endless _patience_ and watch as their charge flirts with death just about every day, and won't listen to a single _damn_ _thing_ I say-

 

Alright- I might be getting off track here. My name is... Bucky, though that's not my real name, of course. My real name can’t be understood by mortal beings, me being of a race that's older than the Earth and all. But you can just call me Bucky- it's worked just fine for me in the recent past. I'm one of those Guardian Angels you just read about, though definitely a younger, lower ranking one (at least I have only one head, right?) at only 1.5 million years. And still not a single gray hair. I know, I know, I look good, right?

 

But I've been guarding humans for quite a while now, watching as millennia passed and Neanderthals evolved into cute little walking and talking people. I've gotten real good at it, too, having recently moved into the rank of "General", aka leader of my little garrison. My superiors don't really like me- they say I've "picked up bad habits from my humans" and that I’ve "let myself be tainted by the mortals". But have you ever seen Angels? Okay, I guess you haven’t, but it’s a figure of speech. They're a real boring bunch. Humanity is where all the action is- I mean, just look at New York. The city _literally_ never sleeps. That's where I go when I can sneak off- spend a while among the humans, learn new things, eat _food_ ….

 

Of course, that’s not really allowed, because the rules here are so goddamn strict. We’re only ever allowed down on Earth if it’s deemed necessary, the definition of which can be a fickle thing depending on who you’re talking to. I can fly away for bits and pieces at a time, as long as no one as watching, though all the sneaking around is exhausting. In fact, being a Guardian is exhausting, because there’s so much red tape and laws about what you can and can’t do. Helping your charge too much in their life? Nope, can’t do it. Letting harm come to your charge if it ‘teaches them a lesson’ or is ‘part of Fate’s plan’? Of course that’s allowed! Showing yourself to your charge? _Absolute no-no_. Influencing your charge’s thoughts and feelings with your own, or even mind controlling your charge? Sure, go ahead. It’s frustrating to stay within the lines, but the outcome if you don’t is even worse: Punishment. You ever try going against Fate himself and the rules of the Archangels? Didn’t think so. I wouldn’t recommend it.

 

Okay, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. You’re probably confused. Let me explain my life to you. I, Bucky, am a lowly Seraph, part of the third-sphere of Angels, destined to “mingle with the mud-monkeys” (my superiors’ words, not mine) for eternity. My bosses are the Powers, second-sphere Angels who give me assignments and punishments both. _Their_ bosses are the Rulers, the first-sphere Angels who are the direct go-between for God and/or the Archangels and the lower Angels, us. Basically, God tells the Archangels who tell the Rulers who tell the Powers who tell _me_ what to do. It’s exhausting, quite frankly, and a rough existence, but hey, someone’s gotta do it.

 

There are six divisions in Heaven, each filled with Angels specifically fit for those roles. When Angels are created and come of age, they’re assigned (partly by Fate, partly by personality, if there had been time for any to develop) to a division: Punishment, Guardianship, Naturalism, Development, Defense, or Fate. Each division has a main Ruler presiding over it, and then there are departments or garrisons underneath them, each led by a Power. It’s all very bureaucratic, with oversight at almost every spot and not much room for choice or arguing.

 

I’m part of the Guardianship division, though I used to be in Defense. My job is basically to protect the humans that I’m told to without them knowing I’m there. If they see me, there’s rules and Punishments and Falling and blah blah blah. But no Angels have gotten into that much trouble in a while, so for the most part it’s pretty easy. In general, no one ever knows I’m there, which… is a bit lonely, to tell you the truth. I mean, I have Angel friends, but there’s not much fun to be had in Heaven, you know?

 

Heaven didn’t use to be this way. It used to be filled with light and happiness, Angels laughing and relaxing to their hearts’ content. I’m not sure when it began to change, but over the course of my own existence, I’ve seen the differences myself. Less information came from the Big Guy himself, more laws and rules were put in place by the Archangels, the Punishment division was given more power and filled with Angels with no regard for others…. Heaven has slowly become even more somber and constricted, but I love my job, I do, so there I stay.

 

Now, back to the story. The point I'm trying to make here is- I'm ~~cooler~~ a bit different than the other Angels I have to work with. A lot of the time, it helps, 'cause then I know more about my charges and I can help them better. A few of my past guardees include- not to drop names- a president, a couple female celebrities, and a dynasty leader or two. But, everything changed with Steve _fucking_ Rogers. He ruined my life. Well... Sorta. He definitely... changed it. Irrevocably.

 

It all changed for me in the good Year of Our Lord 1985….


	2. Chapter 2

_Peaceful serenity,_

_I find it in your hands._

_Many search; wandering adrift._

_What Fate have I tempted so_

_to find myself with such a gift?_

 

 

1985- June

 

Lots of people try to imagine what Heaven is like. To some, it is heavenly fields, painted in a soft, white light. To others, it’s sitting on fluffy clouds, surrounded by your loved ones. In reality, it’s closer to… whatever your heart desires. One’s personal heaven is designed, down to the very last detail, to be exactly what one wants most in life. Each human being had a personal Heaven, though many shared them with their other loved ones. Maybe old pets will be there, inside of the house that was always wanted but could never be afforded. Heaven is… flexible, redefining itself at every moment. The humans’ sections were separated from the parts that the Angels inhabited, to keep the peace for the humans.

 

To Bucky, resident Guardian Angel, it was boring as fuck. There wasn’t much to do, as Angels didn’t _need_ things like food, entertainment, or luxuries. An Angel’s only duty was to serve, and anything else only acted as a distraction. Heaven was run like a military boot camp, with what basically amounted to a “no fun” policy. It was an unwelcome change that had gradually come to Heaven, one that Bucky heavily disagreed with, to put it mildly. He had been Punished constantly, simply because he hasn’t thought that these rules were fair. Bucky constantly tried to visit Earth, and when he was caught had a bad habit of arguing with his superiors.

 

Being in the Defense division had left him with even less freedom than most. That had been one of the reasons Bucky had originally wanted to become a Guardian and escape to monotony of Heaven. It was a welcome change from the constant fighting and discipline that made up Defense. Bucky was a warrior- trained to fight and kill without mercy, to destroy anything and everything his superiors pointed at. He was a promising Seraph, and he had been told that leadership was in his future. But the endless bloodshed and mindless violence… it was too much, and Bucky had had enough and left. An Angel leaving their division was not unheard of, but Bucky had been the object of scorn and derision for millennia. But then he had fallen in love with the human race, and had never regretted his choice for a second.

 

Bucky had risen quickly through the ranks and became the leader of his own garrison. The Angels under him jokingly called him ‘Sergeant’, and though he complained about it not being the proper title, he had to admit that it had a nice ring to it. At the moment, his charge was a truly remarkable woman by the name of Peggy. She had been a high-ranking agent during World War II, then had gone on to form many important security agencies and research stations throughout her life. Bucky was in awe of her, and as she grew older with each passing day, he was dreading the time when he would have to escort her up. It was inevitable, and one of the worst drawbacks of the job, but it had to be done. Bucky had learned to mask any of his superfluous feelings towards his charges long ago, to hide them from those who would Punish him for it.

 

The first member of his garrison was Thor, who was the oldest of them all- older even than Bucky. Thor wasn’t as old as the universe itself- only the Archangels were that old- but he was approaching ten million years, give or take a couple million. It was lucky that he was such a good sport- lots of other Angels would resent that an upstart one tenth of their age was in command of them. Thor himself in his younger days would have, if the stories he told were any indication. But Thor was wiser and much more patient now, and for that Bucky was grateful. In fact, Thor was incredibly kind and greatly resembled a giant Golden Retriever. He had taken a liking to the early Nordic civilizations, hence his name and the constant armor and cape that adorned his massive form. Nevertheless, it definitely suited him, which was why he had not been asked to change into more traditional clothing. Thor currently had a charge by the name of Sif, a hot-blooded woman of whom he was immensely proud. (Bucky thought that there was a little something else going on there, but who was he to tattle?)

 

The second member to join Bucky’s team had been Bruce, only slightly older than Bucky. Bruce was collected and quiet, never straying too far out of his own business. He could always be counted on for sound, helpful advice, and was the Angel to go to when you were having a bad day. Bruce radiated a relaxing and soothing aura, filled with small smiles and reassuring touches. He always seemed calm, no matter what happened in his life, which was probably why he was assigned to the human he was- Tony Stark. Tony was a mess, too smart for his own good, with too much free time and not enough supervision. Bruce was constantly running after his charge, trying to keep him from self-destructing with his latest invention. It didn’t help that Tony’s father was sort of a scumbag, paying more attention to his work and his adultery than to his son. The kid amazed Bucky often, as he was already heading off to college in the next few years. Tony sure was… something; Bruce _definitely_ had his hands full with that one.

 

The fourth and final member of their little garrison was Natasha. The fiery Angel struck an imposing figure, even though the projection she chose was petite and attractive. If they were allowed to pick favorites, Bucky’s would be Natasha. He had trained her, both in Grace usage and fighting, so the two had history. Natasha was much younger than he, at only two-thirds his age, yet she was a formidable Guardian, and had one of the lowest failure rates of all the Seraphs. She took no shit from anyone, and was known to be incredibly sneaky when needed. She was incredibly dangerous, but Bucky trusted her implicitly. Her charge was a human named Clint Barton. If Tony Stark was the equivalent of an alarm clock vibrating itself off of a table, Clint was the equivalent of a pizza that had landed upside down and got stuck to its box. The poor kid had a horrible life, was being raised in what was basically a travelling crime circus, and needed all the help he could get. Luckily for him, Natasha was one of the best Angels for the job.

 

Though the job was rough, with few bonuses and little to no free time, Bucky wouldn’t give it up for anything. Not only did his existence finally have a purpose (other than the traditional “watch benevolently from above until someone fucks up and needs to be smote), but he had actually made friends and learned innumerable things about humans. And sure, Bucky had his ups and downs, but for the most part he was… content.

 

Of course, then came the day that everything started crumbling apart.

 

It started out like any other. Peggy mostly slept both her days and nights away, so Bucky was left with a lot more free time than he was used to. Normally, he would use it to go bug Natasha, or sit and watch Bruce watch Tony (and tease the normally-calm Angel about his totally-a-crush on Betty until Bruce was red in the face and stammering). But Bruce was actually busy today (something about a science fair and a truly horrific accident waiting to happen), and Natasha was nowhere to be found (which happened a lot, to be fair). Grumbling about being stuck in Heaven with nothing to do, Bucky set off to see if he could find someone else to talk to- perhaps one of Phil’s garrison.

 

Ideally, Bucky would be able to fly down to Earth and explore among the humans. It was his favorite pastime, and the one thing he never got tired of. But he needed a reason to go down to Earth, as bottomside visits weren’t supposed to be taken on a whim, and he especially was always being watched carefully for ‘disruptive behavior’. With Peggy peacefully asleep, there was literally no excuse he could use to get down there. Heaving another sigh, he decided to maybe take a walk through the Garden.

 

Wandering through the Garden of Eden may sound like a dream for some people, but it didn’t seem so special to Bucky anymore. Sure, when it had first been created it was real nice- nothing like that had ever been seen before, since it had been created specifically for the humans- but it had kind of lost its appeal when Lucifer had gotten in. There was something disenchanting about knowing that Lucifer had cost humanity everything good they ever had just for kicks. But Bucky still liked to meander through there sometimes. It was always quiet, a hushed and reverential silence, as if the very flora mourned for the loss that had happened here. It was easy to lose oneself here, to fall into meditation or a blissful sort of mindlessness, which helped Bucky incredibly whenever things became too stressful.

 

He had just reached the second row of trees, thoughts fading into a murmuring stream, nothing but the quiet humming of his Grace to accompany him, when a whisper as soft as dust motes seemed to rush through his mind, and every feather on his wings bristled as he shuddered. A cold touch seemed to slither down his spine, and Bucky screwed his eyes shut uncomfortably. Even though the feeling was familiar- more so than he wished- it still didn’t change the fact that Death needed to update its messaging system. Even though it was familiar, Bucky groaned aloud, pain making its sluggish way through his chest; more pain then he’d felt in a while.

 

The time had arrived, as it always did, when he had to face the music: Peggy was dying. She was an old woman now, and she had lived a long, fruitful, enjoyable life (Bucky had made sure of that). But her body was slowing down, her mind was starting to go, and Bucky hadn’t been this torn up over a charge in _centuries_. He had a choice now. He could let her live out the remaining years of her life in a slow decline, and wait until her body completely failed. Or, he could do what he almost always did, and escort her up personally _now_ , before she really started to suffer. The choice was never really easy, but Bucky knew what he had to do.

 

That was how he found himself down in a retirement home in DC, in the room of one Peggy Carter. She was sleeping peacefully, propped up on three pillows, just the way she liked. Her aura floated around her, slowly rotating as she slept, gentle blue and dark green swirls. Bucky took a moment to watch her, and he felt a swell of an unknown emotion for this incredible woman, who hadn’t let sexism or terrorism stop her from accomplishing anything. Her life had been one of triumph and strength, and though Bucky was loathe to see it end, he knew that it was the right thing to do. She was a strong woman, and would resent being left to this fate. Many Angels refused to bring their charges up early, insisting that it violated part of their job as ‘letting the humans live a _full_ life.’ But Bucky couldn’t bear to see anyone, especially Peggy, stay in a state such as this unnecessarily.

 

Coming closer, he brushed a hand down the side of her face. As she stirred, he quickly composed his projection; she wouldn’t be able to see him otherwise. Projections were like a costume, or a thin film Angels pulled over themselves to hide their true form. Without these human-like personas, all the humans would be able to see was blinding (literally, it would burn their eyes out) white light, the Grace of an Angel. The projections were solid and looked real, and allowed Angels to appear on Earth.

 

Angels still didn’t look human under their projections- there was always a residual glow of Grace, and they were inhumanly enthralling and a little too… perfectly built. It made humans uncomfortable sometimes, even though the only times they were allowed to see their Angels was on their way to heaven. Bucky always tried his best to remain as non-threatening as possible, though of course it didn’t always work.

 

Peggy opened her eyes just as he finished- before her she saw a young man in his late twenties, dressed in black jeans and a sweater with a black overcoat, dark brown hair a tad too long and swept up and back from his face. He held still as she studied him for a moment, brown eyes as sharp as ever roaming his face. Whatever she saw seemed to make sense to her, as she nodded the smallest bit and relaxed into her pillows. “Have you come to take me away?” she asked, no hint of anger or fear in her voice. She looked serene, and maybe a bit pleased, and her aura was slowing filling in with magenta and hot pink wisps.

 

Bucky was surprised at first, even though he shouldn’t have been. Of _course_ Peggy would figure it out herself. She was as quick as a whip, and Bucky wasn’t as subtle as he used to be- it was getting easier and easier for the humans to pick out his ‘divine interventions’, as his supervisor liked to yell at him. However, he still felt the need to ask, “How’d you know?” as he let his projection fade the smallest bit, letting more of his Grace become visible. The clear golden light cast slight shadows on the walls, and it reflected brightly out of Peggy’s eyes.

 

She chuckled hoarsely, shaking her head the tiniest bit. “Oh, I’ve noticed many strange instances in my life; times when I should have died and didn’t, or when an answer to a tough decision came floating into my mind, and it just happened to be the right choice.” She smiled at him, reaching out a hand to pat his arm like she was his grandmother. “I’m thankful that you were there to help me when I needed it most.”

 

Something warm once again spreading through the Angel, Bucky smiled back, wrapping a hand around hers. “It was my genuine pleasure, ma’am. You are truly a remarkable woman.” It wasn’t often that Bucky truly wished to slow down time (while he _could_ do it, it was forbidden, or Fate would have his wings- it was just another form of torture, watching his charges suffer helplessly), but now was one of those times. Peggy still had so much she could offer the world, if only humans’ lives weren’t so fleeting. Sure, humans kind of terrorized the planet, and in a way it was good that they didn’t live for too long. But every so often, a human like Peggy Carter came along, and Bucky thought that she deserved at least three more lifetimes.

 

“Oh, well thank you,” she murmured, and her eyes lit up as she squeezed his hands, “but I suppose everyone’s time has to come.”

 

Bucky nodded. “Yes ma’am,” he replied, his smile turning bitter. “Unfortunately, I have to take you with me.”

 

He knew that she could hear the regret in his voice, as her smile dimmed and she grasped his hand harder, giving it a little shake. “Don’t be so dramatic. I know that this old body needs its rest. I’m glad, I truly am- I wouldn’t want to wait another ten years like this.” Her chastising tone, as if she were scolding a child, brought the smile back to Bucky’s face.

 

Chuckling, he lightly tugged at her arm, letting his Grace flood into her. The signs of age immediately began to regress, Peggy becoming younger before his eyes. She beamed as she felt the aches and pains disappear, and she (or her soul) stood up from her bed, her body lying peacefully still once more on the sheets. Peggy, as she was at her prime in the forties, came up next to him, laying a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you… what is your name?” Aqua and light blue now dominated her aura, and the clouds of it nearly reached Bucky.

 

“My name is Bucky. Pleasure to meet you,” he replied. With that he gripped her hand tighter and opened his wings, Earth and space stretching and collapsing around them. Angels flew, using their wings as birds did, but they used the spaces between realities to make their travel instant. Bucky could sweep from point to point in milliseconds, bending space to his will. Harnessing the light around them and sweeping from Plane to Plane, Bucky flew them from the hospital into Heaven, the reality around them snapping back to a halt as they landed.

 

Making sure Peggy was steady, Bucky swept an arm around at the sight before them, seeing it for the first time as well. He heard Peggy gasp, and he chuckled to himself. “Welcome to Heaven.” From what he could see, it was the house Peggy and her wife had lived in during the fifties. It was an old, wood-boarded house with a single car garage and a bright white front door. The roof was tiled, and the color scheme matched the bricks on the walkway to the porch. He could see through the window the woman in question, Angie, in the living room, seated on the couch. Peggy’s grip on his hand became even tighter, and through that point of contact he could feel the absolute joy flooding through her, and therefore into him. It made this a little easier, to see how happy Peggy would be while she was here.

 

Turning to her, Bucky laid a hand on her cheek, giving her a small smile. “You’ve done amazing things in your life, Peggy Carter, and the world will never forget you, I’ll make sure of it. But now, it’s time to rest. You deserve all of the happiness we can offer. I’m… I’m sure gonna miss you.” With a final peck on her cheek he took a step back, throwing out an arm towards her house. Now was when the human would usually run inside towards their loved ones, and Bucky would leave again, getting a break before receiving another assignment. But the woman’s soul didn’t move.

 

Peggy looked at him with something akin to amusement, before stepping back towards him and crushing him into a hug. “You don’t get to leave just like that, Bucky.” It was as unexpected as it was sweet, and it caught him off guard. It was… warm. Kind. After a moment of surprise, he hesitantly wrapped his arms around her, and she laughed, bright and clear. “You’ve saved my life God knows how many times, and I don’t even get a hug? I don’t think so.”

 

Bucky, grinning into her hair, squeezed her harder, relishing the contact for a few seconds before letting her go. It had been… God… _decades_ since he’d had physical contact with a human. He’d forgotten how glowing and solid they were, and all of the emotions that flickered and jumped beneath their skin. Stepping back once more, he gave her a sloppy salute, lips still pulled into a smile. “It’s been an honor, ma’am,” he said, letting his projection fade away as he opened his wings again, letting her see just a small glimpse of his true form before he whipped into the light Planes once more.

 

He spent the next day and a half relaxing, almost in a meditative state. This was his usual routine; for a day (sometimes two) he would go into what could be called ‘restart mode,’ and then he would spend a few days catching up with any other Angels he hadn’t seen in a while. Before long he got antsy for a new human to watch, but his time off was nice while it lasted, and greatly appreciated. Especially this time, when he was still so distraught over Peggy (which he knew shouldn’t be happened, but Bucky couldn’t help it).

 

Which was why it was Fate probably screwing with him (again) when a bored-looking third-sphere Throne appeared before him with a dry rustle of feathers. “Seraph, your Power requests your presence.” He disappeared without another word, leaving Bucky glaring into empty space, mind-numbing trance completely dissipated and the harsh throb of sorrow returning to his heart, or where it would be if he had one.

 

Before Bucky could loudly demand what for, an insistent tugging sensation between his wings gave him all the explanation he needed. As he appeared in Maria’s ‘office’ he inwardly sighed, disappointed. Usually he got a week or even two between assignments, allowing his Grace to replenish and his projection to rest. He truly could have used it this time, as this was a particularly rough transition for him. It wasn’t that Bucky minded the work, but he just wanted a little down time to catch up with his team, and maybe try to sneak down and relax in Coney Island. He especially wanted some more time to come to terms with his charge passing, as he knew that he needed to get himself under control before he was put in charge of another human. But, alas, when Heaven wants something done, it gets done.

 

“Alright, I have your new assignment,” Maria said without preamble, folding her hands on her desk in front of her. Sometimes Bucky had to wonder at how much the Angels had picked up from the humans that they looked down on so. Things like desks, break rooms, tablets, even paperwork had become standard issue in this line of work, and Bucky had to laugh. _‘The little humans_ do _have good ideas, huh?’_ he thought, before bringing his mind back to the information his superior was handing him.

 

Reading aloud from the paper in his hand, Bucky recited, “Steven Grant Rogers, born July 4th, 1985 at 5:52 pm in Maimonides Medical Center, Brooklyn, New York.” The rest of the paper was surprisingly empty. There was some information about his parents and their family, and then the heading for reasons he was being assigned a Guardian, which were… non-existent. He flipped the paper over, as if there would be something on the back, and then scowled when that too was blank. The whole _point_ of these little papers was to give the Angel all the necessary information on their new charge so that they knew what they were getting into. This lack of information combined with the rude interruption of his mourning period filled Bucky with anger.

 

Looking back up at his boss, he scoffed. “‘Will perform great deeds?’ That’s it? Maria, this has nothing for me to go on. Usually I get so much more information than this! What gives? How am I supposed to Guard this human if I have almost no information on him whatsoever?” Talking like this to a superior Angel might normally get Bucky in trouble, but Maria had always been one of the more tolerant second-sphere Angels, and she and Bucky had known each other for a long time. She was one of the most competent Powers around, and even though she was almost twenty million years old, she was surprisingly flexible in her beliefs and attitudes. She was tough but fair, and was one of the few who weren’t afraid to talk back to their overall Ruler, named Fury. That was why she and Bucky got along so well- they both told people when they had had enough of their shit.

 

True to her form, Maria’s professional attitude didn’t waver once while Bucky complained. “Barnes, I know, believe me, I don’t like what I see either. But this is what I got from the higher-ups; I don’t _have_ anything else to give you.” From her dry tone, it was obvious what she thought of the ‘higher-ups,’ aka Fury. She quirked a sympathetic eyebrow, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. It looked like this was the best Bucky was going to get.

 

He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. He knew it wasn’t her fault; technically it wasn’t even Fury’s fault, they both just passed information down the line. But this problem was going to make this job so much harder for him; he couldn’t help but be angry. It especially wasn’t Hill’s fault that he was so raw from his last charge’s death; that fact that Bucky was still aching after Peggy wasn’t normal. Angels weren’t supposed to care for humans, let alone mourn them. He needed more time to readjust, to settle down. But he knew that if he admitted anything like that, he could get sent to Punishment, which was _never_ a good time.

 

“I know,” he muttered, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I know, I _know_. It just… really sucks.” He could be referencing anything, but he left it at that, not actually wanting to get in trouble today.

 

Maria’s lips lifted at the human phrase, but she said nothing, only offering a clasp on the shoulder to the Seraph. “Steve’s arriving later tonight, so you better go and rest while you can.” Bucky nodded, giving her a tired half smile as he saluted and turned to leave. “Oh, and Barnes?” she called, making him halt with his black wings half spread, “This one seems important. So make sure you’re ready.”

 

With that oh-so-cryptic remark, Bucky nodded once more, before wrapping himself in light and whisking away to somewhere quiet. Hopefully he’d be able to rest without interruptions before meeting his newest charge tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Bucky laid eyes on Steve, he knew that his life (or whatever word could be used to describe his unending existence on the celestial plane) was about to get much, _much_ more difficult. The newborn infant was incredibly small, frail, and weak looking in the fluorescent lighting of the (slightly less-than-nice) hospital where Sarah and Joseph Rogers had gone as soon as the labor pains had started. He saw the disbelieving looks the doctors gave each other, felt the unease and resignation radiating off the delivery nurses. A premature baby who also, if Bucky was reading things correctly, had a myriad of health problems. The prospects were dire, and Bucky sighed, running a hand over his face (or where it would be, if he physically had a face currently).

 

The problem with being a Guardian Angel was that you were contractually, spiritually, and ethically bound to protect your charge at all costs. The human that an Angel Guarded would live for as long as physically possible for that human being, free of as much chaos and unhappiness as the Angel could prevent. For the human, this meant that their life will be somewhat longer than the average human's (usually), and unnaturally free of disease, heartbreak, and failure. Although, not everything could be prevented, as Time and Fate had certain things in store for everyone, and no one- not even Angels- could change those plans.

 

However, for the Guardian Angel, the duration of a human's life could be a hard span of years. Some humans were just more unlucky than most, while many humans could be more stubborn or foolhardy. Not every Angel got a nice, easy ninety or so years- Bucky had seen Angels being run ragged, constantly having to steer their charge away from trouble, or send them some sort of advice or subliminal messages every other day to lead them on the right path. Being an Angel was no picnic, but it was necessary for the humans' sakes.

 

Bucky knew, as _soon_ as Steven Grant Rogers came into this world, that this would undoubtedly be the most difficult assignment of his long, long life- and that was not an easy thing to say. There was a reason that Bucky was one of the highest ranking Seraphs: he was damn good at his job. He was often assigned the hardest cases, the humans that loved to cause trouble, or ones that would be incredibly important, but also face horrendous obstacles. Bucky was the best at getting his charges out of bad situations in a hurry, and being able to shepherd the most stubborn, willful humans into doing what Heaven had set for them. Sure, his methods had been… _unorthodox_ in the past, and he got himself into trouble more often than not, but there were few who could best Bucky in Guarding humans.

 

But Steve Rogers was going to top almost every single one of them.

 

He watched from the spaces-between as the nurses carried the newborn off, wrapped in swaddling blankets, no doubt to do numerous tests to see if the child would even last the week. The elder Rogers were holding hands, Joseph stroking the sweaty hair back from Sarah's forehead and murmuring to her, while Sarah tiredly smiled. Grinning a bit, Bucky sent a small spark of Grace towards the woman; just enough to ease her aching body, but not enough to be noticeable. Steve may have been his charge, but Bucky wasn't heartless- far from it.

 

His attention snapped back to the door as a nurse returned, carrying a newly cleaned and clothed Steve. The Rogers grinned and laughed as they took hold of their new son, looking on in wonder and joy. However, the Angel's attention was on the nurse as she muttered quickly and quietly to the delivery doctor, both looking somber. Bending his thoughts, he brought the nurse's mind to his. _'High blood pressure, early signs of heart problems, weak cardiac muscles, some slight bending in the spine which may point towards scoliosis....'_

 

Shaking his head, Bucky thumped it silently on the wall behind him. Only alive for five minutes, and Steve was already half way dead. Well, maybe not half way, but still enough that Bucky was already stressing. Drifting closer, his black feathers twitching slightly at the passing auras from the other humans, he laid a gentle hand on Steve's chest. As he closed his eyes, Bucky let his Grace flood through his limbs into the infant's body, seeking out connections and information. This wasn't technically allowed, but Bucky was never one to follow the rules to the letter.

 

Bucky actually gasped as he lifted his hand away, barely containing a whine. What he saw... not only did Steve have heart and back troubles as the nurses had seen, but Bucky knew that Steve had asthma. Color blindness. Weak bones and joints. An awful immune system; he would be sickly his entire life, constantly fighting off one infection or another. This just meant hours and hours of work for Bucky, because this meant the Angel would have to constantly be on his toes. One bad infection would be enough to decimate Steve. Bucky had seen more than enough of his charges die too early, and he sure as Hell was not gonna let this one go.

 

Because Steve was important, according to his paperwork. Maybe one of the most important people the world would ever see. But also… Steve had just about the purest soul Bucky had ever seen. As he'd connected his Grace with Steve's body, Bucky knew, right then and there, that Steve Rogers was destined for greatness. Bucky had never felt this intense of a connection to any human he had ever Guarded- something strong and unbreakable emanated out of the impossibly tiny body below him. Bucky stared with wide eyes, his Grace already reaching for Steve, an agitated buzzing to protect and serve growing. This little guy, who would be hard-pressed to survive each winter, was going to change the world someday. And Bucky was going to make sure it would happen, if it was the last thing he ever did as a Guardian Angel.

 

With that silent proclamation, and the knowledge that Steve would be alright for the next bit of time in the hospital, Bucky blinked into the unofficial ‘break room’ for their garrison (it was more of a separate pocket in Heaven’s space). Bucky was met with waves and quiet greetings from his team. For once, all of his friends were gathered together there. It was rare that all of their garrison was free at the same time, with all of them having charges; usually at least one Seraph was off running after their errant human at any given point in time.

 

Giving a tiny wave back and throwing himself down on a chair, Bucky groaned, shoving his hands through his hair. (It was a new style he was trying, slightly different than the usual short and slicked-back style from the Twenties that he favored, and he wasn't sure yet how he liked it.) The other Angels in the room glanced at him, more than one smirking. Natasha kicked at his chair with her booted foot, dressed in the black cat suit she adored so much. "What's got you so down in the dumps, Mr. Grumpy Wings?" she asked, raising a delicate eyebrow.

 

Shooting her a sour look, Bucky grimaced. "Just got my new charge. Steve Grant Rogers, born July 4th, 1985. Five pounds, ten ounces. Asthma, scoliosis, color blindness, heart problems, weak bones, and a compromised immune system." He groaned again, for what felt like the twentieth time since he was assigned his charge. Bucky had been loath to leave the Rogers - he’d already had to ease some pain from Steve and help him get to sleep just before he’d flown away.

 

Bruce whistled, crossing his arms behind him where he was leaning back in his chair, feet up on the table. "Sounds rough, Bucky. What're you gonna do?" The other Angel was trying to be sympathetic, but in reality Bucky knew that Tony had to be much more of a handful. He appreciated the thought, however, and let Bruce see that sentiment in a swirl of magenta in his aura. Bucky received a grin back, and Natasha’s eyes followed them, most likely knowing what they were doing (as she always seemed to).

 

Sighing, Bucky shrugged. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Obviously, I'm gonna do my best to make sure that he lives as long as possible, but.... it'll be difficult." There was silence for a beat, each Seraph waiting for more. Because with Bucky, there almost always was more. A sheepish look coming over his face, Bucky held up his hands. "I melded with him. Just a second, only a little bit," he explained quickly at the raised brows that were sent his way, "but I saw.... This kid, guys. His soul is so bright that it almost looks like Grace. He's going to do great things. He's gonna change the world. And it's up to _me_ to make sure he even survives long enough to do it." Even Bucky could hear the open admiration in his voice, and if he could, he would be blushing.

 

Thor, large and sunny across the table, beamed at him. "I'm sure you will do just fine, my friend," he assured the younger angel. Bucky smiled back at him, glad for the reassurance, even if he didn't quite believe it. It was hard not to believe in yourself when Thor was projecting his confidence, whether you deserved to or not.

 

Natasha kicked at him again, sending him a pointed look. "Bucky, you will do fine. I don't quite know when you got this idea of failure into your head, but you need to leave it behind," she said in her no-nonsense, dangerous tone. She knew Bucky better than anyone, and could see through the excuses that he was throwing out. _'Well damn.'_ Natasha had always had a way of reading Bucky's mind (even though he knew from personal experience that she couldn't _actually_ get past the walls that he had put up around his thoughts after the first few times he'd caught her doing that).

 

Giving her a rueful smile, Bucky went for an air of levity. “Hey, I mean, I’m gonna try my best, but sometimes it’s not in the cards, now is it?”

 

The glare she sent his way made him swallow, even though she wouldn’t actually hurt him. Well, not too much, anyway. It was always hard to tell. “Bucky, come on. You’re the best of us, you always have been. You’ll be fine; _Steve_ will be fine. Stop it.”

 

Bucky couldn’t do anything but nod. Whether he believed her or not, that was a different question (and by her final glare it was obvious that she knew he was just deflecting). Sinking lower in his seat, throwing his feet up on the table, he decided to switch the conversation over to Thor and his charge, knowing the blonde was always happy to ramble on about his ‘lady warrior’.

 

 _‘Lord, give me strength to deal with Steve Rogers,’_ Bucky thought skyward, not sure if it counted as an actual prayer or not, _‘and please don’t let me screw this up.’_

 

* * *

 

1985- August

 

“Where’s Bucky?” Bruce asked as he settled down into a chair, frowning for a moment before tapping the arm once, shifting once again into the new padding on it.

 

Natasha snorted. “Probably downstairs, fretting like a mother hen over his charge.” Bruce chuckled at that, summoning a mug of tea to sip on. Angels didn’t need food or drink, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy it. Bruce was especially fond of the calming warmth of it, and would often simply hold a full mug for hours. Natasha herself had a latte, a human vice she had become quite fond of.

 

“Hey, it’s probably one of the toughest charges he’s had in a while,” Bruce returned with a small shrug. “It sounds like Steve would only benefit from the constant attention, a kid that gets sick that often definitely needs a good Guardian-”

 

“And Bucky is one of the best,” Natasha finished his sentence, nodding. The two fell into contemplative silence, Natasha’s thoughts drifting to her past with Bucky.

 

When Natasha was assigned to Punishment division (something must have belied the steel and strength in this particular Seraph, and her inherent ability to read other Angels unerringly), to work under Karpov’s supervision, she went without question. She had worked under Karpov for four thousand years, learning how to Punish (torture) Angels in the most brutal and efficient ways possible. She hadn’t known any other life, hadn’t known there were other choices. Then, one day, a Guardian named James came to her- he had altered the course of a battle to protect his charge’s family, going against Fate’s wishes- to be Punished. And he had looked at her- so many thousands of years older, so experienced in the ways of humans and relationships- and had asked her _Why do you do this?_ Natasha had replied the same way she always did to her superiors- it was her role. James chuckled, and merely said, _It doesn’t have to be,_ before submitting himself to her blade.

 

That simple interaction, the quiet yet steady strength that James exuded as he accepted his Punishment (unwavering in his refusal to apologize for his act), had shaken Natasha deep in her Grace. The next day, she had told Karpov _I choose not to_ , and had gone to find James. He had taken her under his wing- pun not intended- and taught her how to be the best Guardian that she could be, regardless of her past. He never judged her for how she spent her first few millennia, or what she did to him, and through Bucky she was able to feel at home again in Heaven; she had been given a second chance. She wasn’t proud of her time spent in Punishment, but it had taught her much more about the true nature of Angels than anything else could have. It made her, in the end, a better Seraph and Guardian, because she could learn from her experiences and mistakes.

 

That didn’t mean she was grateful, or that she enjoyed reliving the memories. She had experienced first-hand the kid of corruption that power fostered in Angels, who still thought themselves so far above humans. It was obvious that though the Punishment division was necessary to an extent, the Angel within had grown greedy and sinister, drunk on power and the fear of their victims. They still followed the rules, of course- Punishments must be dealt. But they were taken too far, stretched too long, become something more than just lessons. Natasha had been too obedient to see it at first, but after she had left it was clear how toxic that sector had grown.

 

A startled choke startled Natasha out of her contemplative silence, and she flicked her eyes up to find the source of the disruption. Immediate amusement flooded her to see Bruce, wide eyed and wings ruffled, scramble for the mug of tea he had almost tipped over. For, Natasha noted with a wave in the other Angel’s direction, Betty had appeared, bright sparks of Grace fading away from her flight. The Power had amusement radiating off her in hot pink trails, seemingly enjoying Bruce’s reaction. Natasha met her eyes and winked, offering Betty the seat between herself and Bruce, the latter unable to hide the little tendrils of lime green aura surrounding him.

 

Betty was an odd Power, in that she actually enjoyed spending time with any Angel, no matter their rank. Many higher Angels barely deigned to talk to lower beings, unless it was to give them orders. However, Bruce’s interest in human science, and the particularly skilled way he helped his charges with their projects and learning, had caught Betty’s attention. She was one of the Powers in charge of Development, and oversaw new technology and inventions of the humans, helping guide them to be the best species they could be. It wasn’t the most exciting job, and it could get quite frustrating at times, but it was something Betty was passionate about, so Natasha couldn’t blame her.

 

Betty had appeared in their break room a couple millennia ago, and had immediately started asking Bruce questions about his charge’s newest forging techniques. Bruce had stammered and stuttered his way through the answers, quite obviously star struck by the excitable brunette. Ever since then she was a regular visitor, stopping by for stilted scientific talk with Bruce or gossip with Natasha.

 

“Good morning Natasha, Bruce,” Betty said, settling down and conjuring herself a cup of tea. Natasha murmured a greeting back, while Bruce mumbled a hello. “What are you two up to today?”

 

Shrugging, Natasha responded, “Well, both of our charges have been having quiet days, so we’re not really needed. I think Thor is in the Garden, watching over Sif. Apparently she’s not doing so well anymore.” A slight sense of unease tugged at Natasha, concern over what would happen to Thor when Sif passed. It was no secret how much he adored his charge, and it must be hard for him to see how old she had become.

 

There were reasons why not becoming attached to people- human or otherwise- was easier. Natasha had decided long ago to keep others at a distance.

 

“And how about your fearless leader?” Betty prompted, raising an eyebrow. Bruce shuffled again to her side, fidgeting and uncomfortable. It would have been adorable, if it hadn’t been slightly pathetic, in Natasha’s eyes. The poor Seraph’s crush was obvious to anyone with eyes, yet he was too concerned with power and hierarchy to act on it. Natasha’s mouth twisted up, resolving to start pushing Bruce more often about it.

 

Sliding her eyes back to Betty, Natasha snorted. “Bucky recently got a new charge. Apparently the kid is a breeding ground for germs, gets sick every other month, and Bucky has barely left his side since he was born.” Betty nodded, the unspoken sentiment of ‘ _and we all know how Bucky gets’_ passing between them.

 

“And how is your charge doing?” Betty asked, twisting around to look at Bruce.

 

Bruce, cleared his throat once, twice, fidgeted with his mug of tea. “Tony’s good. He’s on his way to MIT,” he murmured, only giving Betty quick glances, taking a deep breath once he had finished speaking.

 

Betty looked impressed. “And yet he’s only fifteen, correct?” Bruce nodded. “Wow, what an incredible human you’ve got there.” If Bruce could have blushed, Natasha was sure that his face would be beet red right about now. She smirked, seeing a similar expression on Betty’s face as she turned back to Natasha. “And yours?” she asked.

 

Natasha shrugged, twisting her mouth the slightest bit. “Clint is doing alright. As he gets older he’s being given more responsibility at the circus, which opens him up to more crime and violence.” She paused, tapping her fingers on her legs, before admitting, “Sometimes it’s difficult- I wish I could just pluck him out of there, bring him somewhere safer and kinder.” Betty nodded, giving Natasha’s knee a sympathetic squeeze. There was silence for a few more minutes, before Natasha asked, “And how is your work going, Betty?”

 

Betty shrugged. “It’s alright. The biggest thing I’m focused on right now is AIDS, and the research and treatment of it. Of course, there’s only so much I can do, but I’m trying to further their work as much as possible without getting too much attention. Oh, and of course computers- I’m loving the work that humans are doing on those.” Betty’s eyes lit up as she spoke, obvious enthusiasm for her work evident in her voice.

 

The three sat in companionable silence for a while longer, occasionally speaking about current events with the humans, or trading the latest gossip about what Angels were in Punishment, or which ones were now in relationships. Eventually Betty sighed, standing up. “As much as I love visiting with you guys, I should probably return to work. Please give Bucky and Thor my apologies that I did not catch them.”

 

Natasha nodded in agreement, watching as Betty disappeared in a flash of scintillating sparks, before turning to Bruce. “You’re so _fucked_ ,” she proclaimed gleefully. She got the mug of tea thrown at her for her troubles, but it was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	3. Chapter 3

_Torn to shreds, scattered to the wind:_

_Nothing._

_Seeing you harmed- a single scintillate_

_of misfortune befalling you-_

_I will t e a r the stars apart._

 

_ _

 

1988- May

 

Bucky had never, _ever_ seen Thor so depressed. The sunny Angel was usually the picture of joviality and friendliness, but today he looked like a kicked puppy (strengthening Bucky’s argument that Thor was, in fact, part Retriever). But he could see the aura colors shining mutedly through Thor’s abnormally weakened guard: the deep navy blue of sadness tinged with the black of grief. His own mood falling in perceiving the other Angel’s, Bucky went forward and gently laid a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “Hey,” he greeted quietly, offering a small smile, “mind if I sit?” Thor mutely shook his head, elbows on his knees.

 

Swallowing nervously- Bucky had never been good at _talks_ ; that was always Natasha, surprisingly- he sat down, tapping his fingers on his thighs. The other members of his garrison had unanimously voted (the bastards) that as their leader, it was Bucky’s job to go comfort Thor. He had no idea what to do. Angels by definition were not supposed to feel. They were meant to be patient- and, to be frank, uncaring- Guardians, whose only concern was getting the job done. Bucky had been to Punishment many times, and he had _tried_ to learn his lesson about hiding his feelings and his outbursts related to a charge. It had never really stuck, leading to multiple trips back to Punishment. If Thor was looking for a place to properly deal with his feelings, then Bucky was probably the worst Angel for the job.

 

Bucky was saved from having to just blurt out an idiotic question about how Thor’s day was going by a heavy sigh from the blond. “Lady Sif… has passed away. I escorted her this morning.” Thor’s usually booming voice was subdued and melancholy, and Bucky winced, Thor’s affection for his charge and the despair at her passing evident in his tone.

 

“Hey, I’m sorry. I know, man, I know. It sucks.” Bucky paused, unsure of how to continue without getting both of them in trouble. “Sometimes… sometimes you really care about a human. It happens. But, just think about it this way- she’s in a better place, literally one of the best places someone can possibly be.” Thor didn’t look any less miserable, and Bucky almost hit himself over the head. Why was he such shit at helping people? It was his _job_ for Christ’s sake. “It’ll be okay, it always is,” he finished lamely.

 

Thor’s lips quirked up a bit at the attempt though, and he shifted to face Bucky. “Have I ever told you about my brother?”

 

Blinking at the non-sequitur, Bucky frowned. “I didn’t even know you had a brother.” Angels weren’t ‘born’ like humans were, so they didn’t truly have brothers and sisters. Fledglings who were raised in the same nest sometimes referred to each other as siblings, but only if they so choose. All in all, it was rare.

 

Nodding slowly, Thor seemed millions of years away. “Aye, my brother, he is three hundred thousand years younger than me. We were raised together, played together, learned to fight together. He was like my shadow, and I loved him dearly.” Bucky could sense a large ‘but’ coming, and he stayed silent, wondering where the older Seraph was going with this tale.

 

“I was made the Angel of War, and overlooked everything from skirmishes with demons to all out battles between factions.” Bucky didn’t show his surprise at that- he hadn’t known that Thor used to hold that post. “Loki became jealous, and believed that I had never truly cared about him. He became mutinous, and violent, and though I attempted to make him- and believed that he would- see sense, it never came to fruition. Many believed that he would follow in the Morningstar’s footsteps, and so he was banned from Heaven.”

 

Bucky stiffened- there were few fates worse than being cut off from the Host, alone and powerless on Earth. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Bucky replied, reaching out and gripping Thor’s shoulder briefly.

 

A tiny but genuine smile flickered over Thor’s lips. “Nay, it is not that terrible. Loki was always a clever wordsmith- they called him Silvertongue- and so he greatly reduced his Punishment. He talked his way out of The Punishers cutting his head off, sewing his mouth shut, _and_ turning him into a horse.” Bucky let out a surprised chuckle; the old traditions were more and more ridiculous as time went on. “And, he still has his Grace, he is just not allowed to set foot into Heaven. He even has a title now, though it is for the most part a mean-spirited moniker that he encourages- The Angel of Mischief.”

 

Letting out a whistle, Bucky shook his head. So the Angel of Mischief _wasn’t_ a legend, and Bucky was friends with his _brother_. “It’s quite the story,” he replied to Thor, who looked a little less miserable, even if it was nowhere near happy.

 

Thor smiled knowingly at him. “Yet you wonder why I tell it.” Bucky shrugged, not bothering to hide that. “Well, Bucky, I have lived for a great amount of time. I have seen my fair share of happiness and miracles, as well as plenty of heartbreak and sorrow. I chose to be a Guardian as soon as the position was available, as I had no more war-lust or dreams of glory. Just a desire to help guide those that needed it.” The _‘like my brother’_ went unspoken, but both Angels heard it anyway. “While I thank you immensely for your kind words, I do know that it shall get better, it will just take time. So please, watch over your charge, I will be fine. I always am,” Thor parroted Bucky’s words back to him with a wink, before disappearing in a bright flash of light and wings.

 

Bucky shook his head. He supposed that after living for so long one would learn a few tricks of the trade, and would be somewhat numbed to the horrors of the universe. It would make sense that Thor could handle himself. But Bucky still felt responsible for his friend, and fervently prayed that he would be alright.

 

Ten days later, Bucky could have cried with relief when he saw Thor pop into view, with an honest smile on his face for the first time in weeks. His aura was no longer dark blues and blacks, but a blinding mix of lemon yellow, aqua blue, and shades of purple. They all knew what had happened, but Thor announced it anyway. “My new charge is named Jane Foster! She is to be a great astrophysicist, and help the world with its understanding of space and time.” The other Angels in the room cheered appropriately, and Thor beamed. Natasha and Bucky shared a pleased look- everything was back to normal.

 

* * *

 

 

1988- December

 

Steve had been doing alright his first three years of life, all things considered. Some coughing fits that had stayed for over a week, a couple of colds that Bucky had managed to keep down without too much suspicion. All in all, Bucky was surprised that it hadn’t gone seriously wrong before. But, as he’d seen in the past, Fate just didn’t think Bucky deserved a moment of rest.

 

An abrupt and violent tug between his wings was all the warning he got before a sense of urgency and fear overcame him that was so strong that his projection faltered. He immediately flew towards it, cursing himself for not keeping a better eye on Steve more often. Bucky should have _known_ , what with winter coming and all, that something was bound to go wrong. But he had grown complacent. He reappeared a moment later, invisible in the corner of the Rogers’ apartment. Reaching his Grace across the room, he brushed it against Steve’s soul, biting his lip as he realized that Steve had pneumonia. It was really serious; his left lung would collapse if it had to carry this strain for much longer.

 

Bucky anxiously paced (can a being hovering on a celestial Plane pace?), unsure of what to do. He wasn’t supposed to heal serious diseases- it was considered too much interference, and could rouse suspicion. However, if it was going to threaten his charge’s life, he had a bit of wiggle room. The problem was, Bucky knew how sick Steve could get, and that the Rogers couldn’t afford the correct medicine, or enough of it. If Bucky helped too much, he could get in a lot of trouble, maybe even be sent to Punishment again. But as Steve let out a weak cough and Bucky heard his heart falter in its already subdued rhythm, he decided that he just _didn’t care_.

 

This wasn’t the first time- not by a long shot- that Bucky had disregarded rules for the safety of his charge, but he couldn’t ever remember _feeling_ so much about it.

 

Moving forward to hover over Steve’s tiny bed, Bucky let rays of Grace- diluted enough to be confused for sun beams- sink into Steve’s chest. Immediately, the toddler calmed in his restless sleep, and his lungs wheezed that little bit less. The lung was in no more danger of collapsing, and while Steve was far from better, he was no longer in immediate danger. Sarah noticed the small change, and relief flickered over her features as the nurse in her realized the worst had passed. Bucky had given him enough time and strength to heal, and heal he would, especially if Bucky showed up over the next few days to ‘accidentally’ let some Grace spill over into his tiny charge.

 

As Sarah went to call Joseph at his work to tell him the good news, Bucky reached down with an incorporeal finger and traced the lines of Steve’s cheekbones and jaw, more prominent than they should be because of the sickness. An impossible ache had settled into his chest, almost mirroring what must be going on in Steve’s. This child would be, already _was_ , so important- not just to Bucky, but to the whole world- yet here he was, struggling to breathe in some crappy apartment in Brooklyn. The unfairness of it all stoked a fire once again within Bucky, but he couldn’t afford to lose control again, especially not here.

 

“Hang in there, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, fingers tracing once more over blonde hair.

  

* * *

 

 

1989- January

 

“How’s he doing?” Bucky asked, coming to stand next to Natasha. They were in the Garden, in the center of Heaven, looking down into one of its many pools. It was the easiest way to see what was going on down on Earth without actually flying there. Bucky, of course, took every opportunity that he could to fly down and actually _enjoy_ his time as a Guardian. But not every Angel shared his loving view of the humans (now wasn’t that an understatement). Natasha didn’t hate them- far from it; she adored the ‘quaint homo sapiens,’ no matter how much she complained about having to watch them- but she also wasn’t one to expend superfluous energy.

 

Bucky himself was being very carefully watched, as his actions of a few weeks ago had earned him anger and derision from his higher ups (besides Maria, but she was used to Bucky’s disregard for rules). They had warned him that one more toe out of line would result in a trip to Punishment’s division, and that he had better ‘remember his place’ in the future. So, no more superfluous trips down to Earth for a bit. But, as Steve had been right as rain five days after Bucky had healed him, Bucky couldn’t find it in his Grace yet to care about another trip to Punishment.

 

Pressing her lips together, Natasha shook her head. Bucky immediately knew that the news was not good- she was notorious for having an unbelievable poker face and nearly unreadable expressions. When things got too stressful, Natasha closed up and presented an impregnable front. The only time she let herself look ‘weak’ was around Bucky, since he had seen the worst in her already and she knew he would never judge her for the way she was. So the fact that she was visibly distressed meant a whole lot of trouble for Clint. “It’s his brother again. Clint recently turned 18, so now Barney is trying to bring him into the darker side of business.”

 

Bucky winced. Their garrison had heard all of the tales of what Clint had to do to survive; a crime circus may sound like a joke, but the kid had been involved in some pretty sketchy stuff even before he had hit double digits. But now that he was an adult, Clint would be open to a hell of a lot more temptation and threats, and may not make the right choice. It was hard, choosing between what was right and your family (because, no matter how sleazy Barney and the circus folk were, they were all that Clint had); Bucky did _not_ envy him. “Seems like he needs some advice,” he prodded, unsure of Natasha’s plans. Or Fate’s. Perhaps this was one of those times that it couldn’t be helped.

 

“Yea, he does. But nothing has actually happened yet. I’m biding my time.” Natasha never looked up from the pool, concentration unbroken, her eyes tracking whatever was happening to Clint below. “I can tell, it’ll only be a matter of time before Barney or the Ringmaster try to convince him to join the crime ring….” Bucky didn’t need to read her thoughts to hear the unspoken _‘and I don’t know if he’ll make the right decision.’_

Bucky nodded, feeling protective over Clint. The kid wasn’t even his charge, but he mattered to Natasha, and therefore he mattered to Bucky. Luckily, Natasha was probably the best Guardian for the job. Not many people knew about her past and how she had come to be a Guardian, but Bucky remembered how lost she had been when she had first come to him, and so Bucky understood why Clint was so important to her. Reaching over and giving her a quick squeeze of a side hug, Bucky left her to her thoughts as he walked over to another pool to observe Steve, as he did most days.

 

The almost-four year old had been back on his feet in no time, the little terror not wanting to lay down a second longer than he had to. He was currently stumbling around the main room of the apartment, picking up toys and putting them down again in different places, seemingly without an objective. A fond smile ticked over Bucky’s lips as he watched the little boy play, and it only took him a moment of wondering to remember where his parents were- Steve was being watched over by Mrs. McCarthy from next door while Sarah was at work… because Joseph had enlisted. The war in Afghanistan was picking up, and Joseph had felt the need to serve his country (and hopefully earn more money in his military pension to send home).

 

Bucky couldn’t fault him for it. Each Angel did their time as a warrior at one time or another, and while Bucky doesn’t regret it (there’s a reason he’s so good at protecting his charges), he would never choose to go back. But it was still… nice, he supposed, to be a part of something bigger than yourself, to all be working towards a common goal. Bucky just prayed that Joseph wouldn’t do anything stupid, and would hurry himself back to his wife and son. As nice as the military pension was, Joseph himself was much better.

 

Chewing on his lip (a habit Bucky had picked up from a charge long ago), Bucky stepped away from the pool. An unease had begun to creep into his Grace, one that he couldn’t seem to shake. Premonitions weren’t Bucky’s gig- higher up Powers and Rulers got that unlucky privilege- but a clear warning was simmering below the Seraph’s surface. If he had learned anything in the past four years, it was that things were never _easy_ for the Rogers, no matter how much Bucky tried to help.

 

* * *

 

1989- September

 

Thor entered soundlessly (which was strange, for him) into the break room, a slight sheen of burnt orange hazily floating about him. His greeting to Bucky and Bruce was distracted at best, and the two raised eyebrows at each other behind him. Thor sat down at a table, musing at his hands on the table, silent. After a silent dagger-glaring competition between the other two Seraphs (which Bucky won), Bruce sighed and spoke up. “Thor? What happened?”

 

Looking up as if this was the first time noticing they were there, Thor smiled slightly, bemused looking, but not upset. “I have been gifted a second charge.”

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? That almost never happens.” It wasn’t unheard of, but usually there were plenty of Angels who were available to take on charges as only a small percentage of humans (compared to when they first came to be) needed them anymore. Taking on two charges was a lot of work… but if anyone could do it, it would be Thor. Bucky had personally never had two charges at once, a fact he did not regret.

 

“Aye,” Thor replied, “I am also to be a Guardian to Darcy Lewis, who is to be a brilliant computer scientist, and will help Jane in her endeavors an incredible amount.”

 

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense, keeping them together under one eye.” Leaning over, he clasped Thor on his shoulder. “All the luck to you.” Bucky mirrored the congratulations, honestly glad that something nice was happening to his garrison. Between Steve’s sicknesses, Bucky’s probation, and Natasha’s increasingly-worrying reports about Clint’s antics, Bucky had been starting to think that Fate was seriously out for him this time.

 

“I thank you, friends. I am excited- it is only my second time having two charges at once, and it’s always thrilling when they first meet. I will keep you updated!” With that Thor disappeared in a flash of light, his bright Grace looking more like lightening than the usual soft golden light.

 

* * *

 

 

1991- January

 

 _‘Shit. God damnit. God fucking damnit.’_ Smite him for blasphemy, but he didn’t care. Bucky couldn’t keep his wings from bristling and twitching, and his hands clenched into fists and relaxed again every few seconds. The very air around him picked up his energy, turning hot and angry, practically vibrating with electricity and power. He was _thisclose_ to releasing that energy and frying everything surrounding him, but he reined it in, not wanting to get into trouble (again) for unwarranted destruction. But it was hard.

 

Steve’s dad was dead. And Steve didn’t even know yet.

 

Joseph Rogers, soldier in the VAQ-209 squadron in Afghanistan, had died in combat during the Desert Storm. Bucky had felt it happen- felt the strings of Fate twist and pull tight as a noose around his charge. A deep part of Steve knew, perhaps, but to a five year old this shifting in his future wouldn’t have been noticed. But Bucky felt it, and he felt it like a blow to his Grace. He knew that without Joseph’s income, the little family wouldn’t be able to survive, especially with all of Steve’s medical problems. That, and neither of the loving Rogers would return easily from this blow to their family.

 

Direct contact was expressly forbidden, so all Bucky could do was sit by and watch Steve and his mom, just waiting for the day when they would finally get the horrible letter. It took another week for the condolence letter to actually reach the Rogers' household. Bucky had been hanging around and watching them for a few days, unsure of what he could do for them, but wanting to be there for them when they got the letter. Nothing had changed in the household, but then of course they hadn’t known that anything was supposed to change. Sarah and Steve went about their daily business, Sarah working herself to the bone as a nurse and Steve puttering around in kindergarten, getting some sort of cold or cough every month.

 

So Bucky lurked, staying down on Earth indefinitely, wringing his hands and probably dripping Grace everywhere he went. This was the absolute worst part of the job, hands down. If Bucky could, he would tear the world apart to keep this heartbreak from Steve. Jesus, the kid had already missed half the school year because of his illnesses, and his parents were barely getting enough money to live on as it was. The Rogers were good, kind people, who didn’t deserve this sort of grief. Why did everything have to turn sour- what was the point of Guardians if he couldn’t even do anything? Why did Steve have to have these awful things thrust upon him?

 

With those final mutinous thoughts, Bucky forced his wings to relax, his anger fading into resignation. Because, no matter how hard he tried to fight it, things were written into stone, set into motion and unable to be stopped. Fate couldn’t be stopped on the simplest of days, and when events with a large chain of effects (such as this) happened, there was almost no doubt that Fate really did have reasons for it. Which meant that Bucky could do nothing to help, and had to resign himself to watching his charge suffer. Again. The strings of Fate could close tighter than a noose around any Angel in the space of an instant; rebelling against it was physically impossible, and trying to do so would result in immediate Punishment, or worse, Falling.

 

Of course, that was when his day decided to just get so much better. With barely a flutter of wings to be heard, two Angels who he always hoped never to see again appeared before him. With a sigh of annoyance, Bucky inclined his head (just enough so that they couldn’t call him out on insubordination) towards them, instinctually coming to a parade rest. His wings twitched behind him, the only outward sign that belied his true feelings. “Pierce, Rumlow,” he greeted, perfectly courteous.

 

“Hello, James,” Pierce replied, somehow making Bucky’s old name sound like a prize and a disgusting insect at the same time. Rumlow didn’t respond, merely continuing his aggressive and silent posturing at the Power’s side. Rumlow was only a Seraph, but with an incredible amount of boot-licking (and, Bucky had to grudgingly admit, a certain amount of talent), he had earned a spot as the right-hand Angel to Pierce. These two were responsible for Punishment, and Pierce oversaw Reformation as well, along with another Power named Zola.

 

Bucky despised all three of them, for what he thought (but no one else did) good reason. Their very presence made his feathers bristle and his Grace thrum angrily, and not just because he’d had his fair share of Punishment at their hands. There was something about the trio that made every instinct in Bucky’s form go on red alert, and Bucky always listened to his instincts. But, as they technically ranked above him, he couldn’t just fly away, as he would do with any other Angels he didn’t like.

 

“What can I do for you?” he asked, hoping to hurry this meeting along so that he could escape these two. They were a perfect example of how the power of Heaven had fallen, that corrupt and greedy Angels such as them were allowed into positions of authority. _Especially_ a position such as Punishment.

 

Pierce chuckled, a seemingly amiable grin on his face. “Well, James, it’s what we can do for you.” He let that sink in for a moment, and when it became clear that Bucky wasn’t going to respond, he went on to say, “We noticed that you’ve been… extremely empathetic for a couple of days now.”

 

And that made Bucky’s Grace shudder. One thing Angels were not allowed to do was have too many emotions, and Bucky had practically been spitting his feelings and Grace all over Brooklyn for days now. He swallowed, willing his wings to unruffle themselves. “I assure you, everything is under control,” he replied evenly, his hands clenching together behind his back.

 

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Rumlow retorted, crossing his arms in front of him, his Grace flaring eagerly as hues of red and aqua swirled around him.

 

Curling his lip, Bucky fought to keep his voice under control in the face of Rumlow’s sick excitement. “My charge is going through a difficult time right now, and as I am not completely heartless, I feel bad for him. Nothing that will hinder my work.”

 

Pierce smiled again, eager to look the part of a fatherly figure. “Of course, James, of course. We know that. It’s just that our Ruler, Johann, wants all Seraphs in good working order. You know that.” Bucky could only nod, swallowing his visceral reaction to that name. Each time Bucky had been in Punishment it had gotten worse and worse for him, all in the name of ‘keeping order’. Pierce pretended not to notice, merely nodding once before whisking away into the Planes, his Grace not brightening the area in the least.

 

Letting out a slow breath, Bucky felt his Grace and energy relax from where they’d been coiled tightly, ready for an attack or defensive measures. If Bucky had a heartbeat, it would be wildly racing, he was sure of it. Forcing himself to relax, he turned his attention back to Steve (watching him was almost cathartic). But he was too late- Sarah already had the letter clenched in a white-knuckled grip, and tears were silently streaking down her strong cheekbones. Bucky swallowed, ignoring his heart that was breaking all over again for this family (he was a Guardian, for fuck’s sake, he had to pull himself together).

 

He watched, alone and helpless to intrude, as Sarah set the letter down, stopped her tears (Jesus, she was a better Seraph than Bucky was), and went over to where Steve was aimlessly coloring in a book. Sarah knelt down, gently removing the coloring supplies from Steve’s hand. He looked up at her, a pout already on his delicate features, but something in Sarah’s face stayed his tantrum.

 

“Stevie, love, it’s about your father,” Sarah murmured, hands going to cup her child’s head gently, as if her palms could soften the blows her mouth would deal. “Remember how I said that he was very far away, fighting to protect us?” Steve nodded, the hero worship obvious on his face. Sarah swallowed, and when she spoke again her soft Irish lilt was just a little bit shaky this time. “Well, a very bad person… hurt him. Very badly. Stevie… Daddy won’t be coming home.” Bucky could easily see the colors of her aura swirling tumultuously about her, black and dark blue and gray all blurring together.

 

Steve, for all that he was only five years old, was smarter than most. “Daddy’s… gone?” He looked as if he didn’t quite understand it, but Bucky could see that his charge understood far more than people would think. Sarah nodded, valiantly keeping tears at bay. Steve dropped his eyes, chewing on his lip. After a moment he looked up, a small, sad smile on his face. “Mommy still here. Now, we take care of each other.”

 

Coughing out a strangled laugh that was half a sob, Sarah pulled Steve to her, and the two sat on the floor of their tiny apartment, hugging tightly, for over twenty minutes. Bucky, meanwhile, felt an ache in his chest that was as unwelcome as it was cutting. _‘God damnit.’_ This kid had a better grasp of things than most adults did, and he was barely five. Rubbing a hand briskly through his hair, Bucky was suddenly put at odds- his charge didn’t truly need him right now, he just needed his mom. Sighing ruefully, Bucky shot a small spark of Grace into the house, just to warm it and make it more peaceful for the grieving humans. It was the least he could do, damn the rules.

 

* * *

 

1992- July

 

Settling down into the spaces between, Bucky grinned to himself as he saw Steve bounce around excitedly. This was his first play date, a girl from down the street named Becca. Steve was walking over with his mom, the three blocks seeming too long for the excitable seven year old. Bucky thought that it was completely adorable how excited Steve got, and also thought that it was completely warranted. Due to his less-than-nice housing and very poor health, Steve hadn't gotten a chance to see much of children his own age growing up so far. The Rogers simply didn't have the good setting to bring children over, and it was always a bit worrying bringing Steve anywhere, with how weak his immune system was. But Steve needed an adult to watch over him for the afternoon because Sarah was picking up a shift, and Becca's mother- friends with Sarah from the same hospital she worked at- had offered her house for a play date.

 

Of course, if Bucky had been able to, he could have volunteered to watch the kid for the whole day, but obviously that would not go over well with anyone involved.

 

As they reached the door, Sarah knelt down next to Steve, smoothing a hand over his head. "Now Steve, just remember to mind your manners and be polite, okay?" Steve nodded obediently, bangs flopping into his face. Sarah grinned, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'll see you at six o'clock, alright?" With that she stood up and knocked on the door, exchanging pleasantries as Steve rushed in to find Becca. Bucky could hear the two children chattering away as Becca lead Steve to the toy room, and he couldn't help but grin, even as he sent a spark of Grace to calm Sarah's anxiety about leaving her son alone.

 

Drifting into the house after Becca's mom, Bucky followed Steve and Becca down the corridor to her play room. The two had already gotten out art supplies and paper, crayons and markers and stickers spread out around the entire floor. They were excitedly discussing what they wanted to draw, Becca talking about various animals and Steve discussing the logistics of different trees. Becca’s mom came by as they were working on splitting the supplies up evenly between them, the sight bringing a smile to her face. "I didn't know you liked art too, Steve," she said, leaning against the doorjamb.

 

"Oh yea," Steve replied, nodding vigorously. "I've been drawing for years! My mom says I could be a illn- a ills-"

 

Chuckling, Becca's mom supplied, "An illustrator?"

 

Steve nodded again. "Yea! Drawing is my favorite. Even when I can't see the colors." The boy shrugged, seemingly unconcerned by his color blindness. Bucky felt a cold stab to his Grace, and wished that he could heal that for Steve. An artist without colors would always be dissatisfied, no matter what they said.

 

"Well I'm sure that you'll make a great one," Becca's mom responded, standing up to leave. "Come out to the kitchen in a little bit and I'll have some snacks for you." Bucky could hear her walking back down the hallway into the kitchen, drawers and bags shuffling around in the distance. He turned his attention back to the kids before him, a perpetual smile on his face as he watched their antics.

 

Passing over a bunch of pencils, Becca said, "Here, these are some browns and greens for your trees." Steve took them with a soft thank you, and then there was then silence for a few minutes as the two set about sketching out and coloring their chosen subjects. Becca seemed to be drawing something resembling a mutation of a hippo and a horse, which she declared was a giraffe when asked by Steve. Bucky chuckled at that, warmth suffusing through him at his charge's gracious praises of how pretty the giraffe was.

 

Steve, on the other hand, had drawn a large evergreen tree, reminiscent of an undecorated Christmas tree. The details were incredibly good, and Bucky personally thought that this tree was probably the best one ever drawn by any child less than ten years old, in his unbiased opinion. Becca gasped as Steve showed her his picture, lamenting how much better of an artist he was. Steve frowned, shaking his head. "It's okay, Becca, I just got lots of practice. You're really good too!" As if to prove his point, he pushed over another piece of paper to her. "Here, I would like a dog. What do you want me to draw you?"

 

Seeming mollified for the moment, Becca thought, chewing her lip. "Hmmm... draw me a really big cherry tree! Like the ones in DC!" Steve nodded, beaming, and the two set back at their work.

 

Bucky wanted to swoop in and hug his charge tight. Jesus, could this kid get any sweeter? His first play date with anyone, and he was already drawing pictures for them and soothing hurt feelings. Bucky hoped that this was the start of something good, and that Steve could make more friends his own age after this. The kid needed it, needed socialization. How else was the world supposed to know what a special person Steve was?

 

* * *

 

1992- September

 

Steve heading off to school seemed so strange to Bucky, to whom it seemed only yesterday Steve was still in diapers, barely walking. But time always went on strangely for Angels- when you live for millions of years, seven years literally feels like a heartbeat. But now Steve was old enough- even if he didn’t look it- to go off to first grade. Kindergarten had been a rough year, Steve’s body not used to the sheer amount of germs in the school, and so he had missed a large portion of the school year, leaving him lonely and bored quite often. Steve was horribly excited to go off back to school and actually meet other kids his age, and it showed in the bounce in his step.

 

Bucky watched from the Garden as Steve went through his first day, his reading just as good as the other kids’ (thanks to Sarah’s lessons), his art even better- Bucky never knew crayon scribbles could look this impressive. Steve even made a couple friends, as the second graders weren’t as cruel as their older counterparts regarding Steve’s size and health. Becca was attending Steve’s school as well, and Steve had also found Tyler and Jake to sit with at recess and catch bugs. The days went by, school new enough that Steve didn’t loathe it yet, and his friends making even the boring math lessons fun.

 

Of course, the shaky camaraderie could only last so long.

 

Steve’s first fight in school, again, _really_ shouldn’t have surprised Bucky. The kid was a firecracker, a fuse, always ready to go off at the slightest hint of injustice or foul play. So when a boy stole a little girl’s colored pencils out of her hand at recess, and Steve leapt up (leaving his own pencils and sketch pad behind) with balled fists, Bucky should have been alerted sooner. He arrived just in time to see the older boy land a solid hit, square on Steve’s nose, knocking the much smaller boy down.

 

“Mind your own business, pipsqueak!” the larger boy shouted.

 

Bucky could have exploded right then and there. Not only was he furious that this child felt the need to lay hands on his charge, but he was scared shitless for Steve. The kid had bones as fragile as glass, and if an open wound got infected, or if a bone broke and Sarah couldn’t pay for it… Bucky couldn’t directly interfere, even if he _was_ planning on smiting a child… but perhaps if he coerced a teacher to come over here and break it up?

 

While Bucky had been fretting, Steve had gotten back up, clumsily wiping the blood from under his nose. “Tha’ all you god?” His voice was muffled from the blood from his (probably broken) nose, but Bucky stared, aghast, as Steve got hit yet again, but still pulled himself off the grass. At this point a teacher was running over, having finally seen the fight. But Bucky was still staring, conflicting emotions warring within him. On one hand, he was proud of his charge- it’s not easy to stand up to others, especially in a fight that you can’t win.

 

One the _other_ hand, Bucky was incredibly, horribly, _furious._ Why would Steve do that? Couldn’t he see that he was only going to beat into a pulp? Of all the kids to stand up for someone else, a tiny, asthmatic kid who could barely support his own weight was the _least_ ideal candidate for the job. It made Bucky want to whisk Steve away and hide him in a locked room- preferably a padded one- until he could realize what he was doing was truly _dumb_. Steve wasn’t responsible for these other kids, they didn’t eve-

 

With that thought, Bucky froze where he was hovering in the corner of the nurse’s office. Of _course_ Steve saw himself as responsible. That had been decided the day that Joseph Rogers died- Steve would take care of others, like how he and his mom took care of each other. If there were bullies on the playground, or a peer was being teased, of _course_ Steve would step in. The spark inside Steve was easily ignited, and the blaze that followed was enough to burn anyone who came close. Slumping his intangible shoulders, Bucky chuckled ruefully to himself. The anger was dwindling away now, leaving pure pride and _warmth_ in its wake.

 

_‘This kid is truly too good for this Earth.’_

 

The school nurse took Steve into her office, ignoring his complaints that he was fine, he just wanted to go back to recess. She tutted as she cleaned the blood off of his face, handing him an ice pack to hold to his face. Bucky chuckled at Steve’s scowl, his small face scrunched up and already bruising. Eventually he was allowed to go back to class, though Bucky watched as the guidance counselor called Sarah to tell her what had happened. He winced; he did not envy the talking to that Steve was sure to receive.

 

When Steve returned home, Sarah was seated at the rickety kitchen table, clearly waiting. Steve dropped his head and dragged his feet, brown and lime green swirling around him. Sarah merely gestured with her hand, and Steve sighed and walked towards her, hunching his shoulders.

 

“The counselor told me that you got into a fight today,” she murmured, not sounding angry. Steve nodded. “Why?” his mother prompted when he didn’t elaborate.

 

“’Cause John Muller stole Katie Green’s pencils, and was callin’ her names,” Steve spit out, crossing his arms and looking his mother in the eyes. “I couldn’t jus’ let him do that! So I told him to knock it off, and then he hit me.” A tiny grin was poking through his grim face, making his eyes light up. “I got in a good hit first, though.”

 

Sarah sighed, trying to tamp down her own smile, shades of purple and pink threading through the air above her. “Steven Rogers, we do not hit others. You cannot fight everyone’s battles, I don’t want you to get hurt.” Steve ducked his head again, a flush spreading on his face and down his neck. “But,” Sarah continued, dropping her voice conspiratorially, “I am proud of you sticking up for your friend. Just please, please be careful.”

 

At that Steve looked up and beamed at his mother, and the two embraced. “Now, let’s get to work on that homework, hm?” Sarah asked, patting the chair next to her. Steve hopped up, chattering about the rest of his day, and Bucky smiled to himself from between the Planes. He had gained more respect for Sarah, because he could see that they shared similar views- while filled with pride for Steve’s actions and sense of justice, they just wanted what was best for him. Giving the little family one last fond look, Bucky flew back into the sky.

 

When he arrived back in Heaven, the last thing he expected was to see Natasha sitting there, clearly waiting for him. Bucky couldn’t tell how long she had been waiting, but she sat up straight as soon as the tendrils of light unwrapped him. He could see enough of her aura to see the swirls of pale green and brown about her, and that was enough to put him on high alert. “Natalia,” he greeted her, the sound of her older name seeming to bring her a modicum of calm back, “what happened?”

 

“It’s Clint, James.” She tapped her fingers on her arm where they were crossed. “The crime circus was busted by a surprise raid, so now he’s in jail with the rest of them.”

 

Bucky’s heart sank down to his stomach. ‘ _Shit_.’ This was bad- Clint could be pulled up on several different charges if he was associated with the crime circus, and he was still so _young_. “Okay, okay, it’ll be fine. Have you done anything yet?” Natasha shook her head, more shaken than Bucky had seen her in centuries. “First things first, you should get in there and reassure him, try to pass along some subliminal thoughts about being cooperative and asking for a reduced sentence or something.” Bucky wasn’t positive with what exactly Clint was being charged, but it was best to cover all of their bases.

 

Natasha glanced at him, and without even meeting her thoughts, he could see what she was thinking. “Natalia, please, do _not_ mind control people into letting him go. I know that’s the easiest option, but you’ll get into so much trouble.” Angels like Rumlow were like bloodhounds- any moment of weakness, and they dove in for the kill; they’d be all too happy to drag Natasha down to Punishment. “I’m ordering you as your commander, but I’m also asking you as your friend.”

 

Natasha looked down and took a deep breath. “I won’t, James. But...” When _she_ said his name, it sounded like an old photograph, nostalgic and warm, nothing similar to the slimy way that Pierce said it. “I’m just… panicking, I guess. This has happened to some of my charges before, of course, but he’s so young, and none of this is his fault. I have to do _something_.”

 

Bucky bit his lip, wishing he could do more to help Natasha. There was every chance that she was going to get dragged to Punishment like Bucky had been threatened with, though she could be Punished mofd since her motives were more pointed that simply healing a charge. “What if they catch you? You and I both know that Heaven isn’t the same anymore, it hasn’t been for millennia. We can’t do our jobs anymore, there are too many rules and too many awful people in charge.” His voice had grown slightly desperate, reciting the many conversations he and Natasha had had in the past.

 

Natasha didn’t say anything, simply raising her eyebrows at him. A moment passed between them, and they understood each other, as only the oldest of friends could (a relationship centuries in the making, one that belied any command Bucky could give her). Bucky gave a short nod and a small smile. “Please don’t get caught then, Natalia. Help out Clint, let me know if there’s anything I can do.” Natasha gave him a sharp smile, looking more like herself, as she simply disappeared, no Grace or wings to give her away. Shaking his head, Bucky grinned to himself.

 

If anyone could pull this off, it would be Natasha. He just had to believe in her.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	4. Chapter 4

_Tests._

_That’s all life is, a series of tests._

_Yet why do I feel as though God_

_wants me to fail?_

 

 

1998- February

 

Bucky sighed, running a hand down his projection’s face. If he was going to have to watch Bruce _watch_ Betty for another second, he was going to smite himself. The two had been dancing around each other for centuries now. Relationships between Angels weren’t forbidden (lord knows Bucky had had his fair share of flings with other Seraphs, and even a Power or two), but Bruce seemed convinced that he’d be smote on the spot if he tried anything. Burgundy, lime green, and lavender wisped clearly about Bruce’s form, the Seraph never giving much thought to hiding his emotions. Betty was a Power, albeit a lower-ranked one, but everyone could see that if Bruce simply asked, the beautiful and intelligent Angel would say yes in a heartbeat.

 

(Of course, trying to convince Bruce of that fact was nothing short of a miracle.)

 

“Honestly, Bruce, what’s the worst that could happen?” Bucky called out, glaring at the smaller Angel. Bruce simply returned his glare, actually turning his back on Bucky as if to signal that he conversation was over. Which it wasn’t.

 

Thor, from his seated position at the table, piped up. “My friend, we mean no harm. We just wish to see you happy, and believe that Betty will be more than satisfactory for you!” Bruce snorted as Bucky coughed to hide his giggle. Yea, Betty would be _way_ more than _satisfactory_.

 

Natasha was in the middle of heckling Bruce when Bucky felt the urgent, panicked tug between his wings, and his first thought was _‘Great, Steve’s getting into another fight.’_ They happened every other week now, Steve picking fights with bullies for one reason or another. It was beginning to wear on Bucky, who had to simply watch from the spaces-between as Steve was beaten bloody almost every time, the bullies stopping just before seriously damaging the twelve-almost-thirteen year old. It was getting old, and Bucky feared for the day that the bullies _wouldn’t_ stop. Bucky did what he could, trying to worm his way into the bullies’ thoughts to make them stop, but he was already under close supervision from Punishment, and any misstep could cause him to get dragged back immediately. Of course, Bucky had been there, done that, and he wasn’t eager to go back at all… but who would look after Steve?

 

But this alarm was different, one that Bucky hadn’t felt in a few years, and it was one that sent an ice cold bucket of fear cascading down his Grace. Because while he could subtly coerce the older kids to stop kicking Steve, or alter an adult’s course to stumble upon them, there wasn’t much Bucky was allowed to do for illness. And this one was bad, just as bad as the pneumonia that had almost killed Steve when he was four (Bucky was already afraid he was too late). He immediately called the wisps of light to him, one moment standing in their garrison’s room in Heaven, the next, standing in the corner of Steve’s room on Earth.

 

Bucky took a deep breath in once he saw the scene before him. Steve (almost thirteen yet still so small) was lying on his bed, flushed and sweating with fever even as his body was wracked with shivering. Bucky could see from here how swollen his lymph nodes were, and how there was only a feeble clicking when Steve painfully tried to swallow. The rest of his body was covered in uneven, bumpy rashes of bright red- Scarlet Fever. Bucky swallowed, worrying his lip between his teeth. This was obviously a serious case, one that most likely stemmed from the strep throat Steve had had last week. Bucky had thought that it was healed, but apparently not well enough. The strep, untreated both because of Bucky’s limits and the Rogers’ lack of money to pay for antibiotics, had run rampant and evolved into Scarlet Fever, and the illness was now destroying Steve’s body.

 

Judging by Steve’s condition, and from what Bucky could feel when he brushed his Grace along Steve’s body, if he was left untreated, then Steve had only a few days left before his body would succumb to the disease entirely. As it was, he wouldn’t escape this unscathed, and would most likely have even worse lung and heart troubles in the future.

 

Panic flooded Bucky’s system- panic and _anger._ If he had only _known_ that Steve hadn’t been doing well, he could have been there from the beginning, possibly healing Steve more, or finding a way to get the Rogers the needed medication. But because of the _goddamn_ Punishment division, Bucky had been forced to tip-toe on thin ice for years now, never being able to help with more than a wisp of Grace or a single murmured thought. And now, since he hadn’t been allowed to come down to Earth as often as he wanted, Steve was _dying_.

 

Rage, pure and bright, filled Bucky, and it was all that he could do not to unleash his Grace right then and there. Not only would it have been a surefire way to get Punishment on his ass, but it might also have fried this entire quadrant of Brooklyn. Clenching his incorporeal fists and gritting his teeth, he wrestled himself back under control once again, turning his attention back to Steve; as angry as Bucky was, he was even more frightened for his Steve. It was Bucky’s _job_ to look after him, and here he was, failing in epic proportions. The thought burned him, tendrils of fire spreading through his mind, and he wanted to smite himself then and there. _‘There will be time to beat yourself up later. Focus on Steve.’_

For the next couple of days, Bucky stayed with the Rogers, anxiously watching Steve for any sign of improvement. There was none. Steve continued to deteriorate, and Sarah had been reduced to praying as she wiped sweat off of Steve’s forehead. It was terrifying, really, seeing such a bright and young soul so close to the edge of death- one swift push would be all it took for the light to be extinguished. For someone who was supposed to be as important to the world as Steve was going to be, the idea that he could meet his end _here_ , in a dingy two room apartment in Brooklyn, body shutting down from a sore throat gone wrong, only mourned by his mother….

 

It was more than Bucky could bear, and he decided in that moment that this was _not_ how it was going to finish.

 

Coming forward from where he’d been pacing away between Planes, he raised his hands and closed his eyes, calling his Grace to the surface. Bucky smiled slightly as he felt the familiar wash of warmth and power flow around him, and he turned his hands so that they were facing palms-out towards Steve. Opening his eyes (which, if anyone could see him, glowed white-gold with the pure light of his Grace), Bucky let the strands of light swirl down to encompass Steve completely. They worked their way into his body, healing as they went, destroying all traces of the illness that was decimating the child’s body. When it was finished, Bucky called his Grace back to himself, reaching down to smooth an invisible hand over Steve’s hair.

 

Already, the rashes were fading and Steve was breathing easier, more asleep than unconscious now. All traces of the illness were gone, and he would be right as rain the next time he woke up. Bucky smiled, his relief almost palpable in the magenta colored hues twirling around him. He let his fingers linger on Steve’s cheek, allowing one last bit of Grace in to give him sweet dreams (might as well, Punishment was sure to come for him anyway). The blonde heaved a sigh and smiled in his sleep, and that simple measure made Bucky’s Grace leap for joy.

 

Bucky knew, even as he felt the bone-cold shudders that meant angry Angels were coming for him, that it was worth it. _Everything_ was worth it for Steve, even if Bucky had to go to Punishment for _months_ this time. Because if Bucky had had to watch Steve die… well, he’d rather be made to Fall than have to go through that so soon. So he simply stepped away from Steve, fading into another Plane, and closed his eyes as an Angel- Rumlow, Bucky could tell from the angry jittering of the other Angel’s Grace- took him by the wings and dragged him into Heaven’s deepest recesses.

 

* * *

 

2000- March

 

When a too-familiar cold wind brushed down his spine, making his feathers shiver, Bucky’s Grace immediately flew into a panic. _‘No, no, no! Please let this be a joke. Leave him alone, for Christ’s sake! Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay….”_ Bucky immediately flew down to Earth, the shuddery feeling of Death still making him shake, and he felt on the verge of tears (which he wasn’t even sure he could physically do). As he burst into existence on Earth, barely remembering to mask himself as he appeared, Bucky cast panicked eyes and Grace about the room, trying to ascertain what was going on. Steve had been fine yesterday when Bucky had seen him, nothing was wrong, there had been no alerts….

 

But Steve was sitting calmly at his table, doodling elaborately on the edge of his homework as usual, completely unharmed. Bucky, still breathing erratically, froze, unsure of what was happening. He knew the feeling of Death better than most, and he was _positive_ someone was passing…. Spreading out his Grace further, Bucky tried to find Sarah, the only other occupant of the apartment.

 

He almost wished he hadn’t found her.

 

Bucky had known that Sarah was a delicate woman- any genetic health problems that Steve had he had accrued from her. But she was so strong on the inside, constantly working to better the life of her son and for those in the hospital where she worked….

 

He hadn’t known. Bucky _hadn’t known._ How could he have missed it? How could he have been so blind? As she had aged over the past fifteen years, Sarah had gotten weaker, as humans tend to do. She worked herself to the bone to provide for Steve, to help her community, and Bucky had always felt a strange sense of pride for the woman. Nothing seemed to keep her down for long, and even when she was sick or wasn’t feeling well, she didn’t let it stop her from living her life and aiding others.

 

Which was why Bucky was floored to feel that _she_ was the one he had felt Death calling for.

 

Swallowing heavily, he flew to her bedside, just in time to see her cough harshly into her hand, skin coming away flecked in blood. Her soul was dim, dimmer than Bucky had ever seen it, and he could almost feel the sickness and weakness of the body radiating off of her. While it was true that Angels generally weren’t so in tune with humans who weren’t their charges, Bucky still _hated_ himself for not picking up on this earlier. Not that he could have done much, of course, but to know about it in advance… perhaps help ease the horror of this event….

 

Bucky stared, wide eyed, as Sarah lay on the bed. Surely, she knew- the woman was a nurse, and knew better than most when a patient was too far gone. She had most likely known for a while, spending their money instead on Steve’s asthma medication rather than the expensive antibiotics she would have needed for Tuberculosis. It was enough to make Bucky lose control, just a slip, and he winced as a tree outside _cracked_ down the middle. Breathing harshly yet again, Bucky paced, almost ripping his projection’s hair out. Sarah had days left, Steve didn’t know, everything was going so _wrong_ so _fast_ \- it was enough to make Bucky panic.

 

A low whine escaped Bucky, and he barely had enough cognizance to try and tamp down his emotions for fear that Punishment division would come and find him again. He couldn’t afford to be taken away from his family at a time like this. He _had_ to be there, for both Sarah and Steve. Steve would be devastated and distraught, and while Bucky wasn’t Sarah’s Angel, he sure as _hell_ wasn’t letting her go alone to Heaven. Bucky winced, sorrow once again crashing through him at the thought of the strong woman in front of him passing.

 

And so he stayed, standing vigil at her side, for three days.

 

When the time came, Bucky coaxed Steve out of his room to his mother’s. Steve was confused at first, unsure why he had come in- he knew that his mother wasn’t feeling well, and that she needed her rest. But when he saw how pale she had gotten, how she weakly beckoned him forth with her hand, his eyes widened and his lip trembled. Dark blue, brown, black- negative feelings could be seen swirling through the aura around Steve, and Bucky almost cried out, wanting so badly to comfort Steve. But he _couldn’t_. He could only watch, hidden out of sight, as Sarah- weak from coughing and from fighting for so long- whispered her goodbyes to Steve. Steve- still so young- started crying, tears slipping down his cheeks, but stayed strong and silent, the only outward sign of just how much he was being torn apart the white-knuckled grip he had on the bed sheet.

 

After minutes of heavy grief and love, Sarah closed her eyes, let out a sigh, and was still. Steve sobbed, an ugly sound torn deep from his lungs, and bent over his mother’s body, weeping anew. Bucky sent wave after wave of Grace towards him, trying to offer some sort of warmth or solace, but there were some hurts that Bucky simply couldn’t fix. Gracefully, her beauty in life still retained, Sarah’s soul came up to Bucky’s form.

 

“Are you here to take me away?” she asked calmly, her faith obvious in the way she immediately trusted who she saw before her. Gentle swirls of blue and purple filled the air around her. The Irish lilt that had never quite left her voice wound around her words, adding an impossible sense of warmth and comfort.

 

“Yes ma’am,” Bucky whispered, sadness an unwelcome sharp and thorny feeling clawing at his throat. “My name is Bucky, and I’m here to take you to Heaven. I… I’m sorry.”

 

She looked at him oddly, a small smile dancing over her lips. “Don’t be. I’ve often wondered… assumed that someone must have been watching over us, over Steve. There have been instances- _miracles_ ….”

 

Reaching out to take her hand, Bucky replied, “Guilty as charged. And don’t worry, I’ll be with him until the end of his time. He won’t ever be alone, not truly.” Sarah seemed satisfied with that, both of them turning to look at Steve. He was still bent over his mother’s form, but his sobs had calmed some. Sitting back, the blonde wiped at his eyes shakily, weak lungs still gasping slightly. Suddenly, Steve stiffened, turning around, seeming as if he was looking for something in the dimmed room.

 

“I…” he started, and Bucky and Sarah both frowned, instinctively leaning towards Steve though he couldn’t see them. “I don’t know if you’re there… Ma, or… or whoever is with her.” Steve paused, swallowing thickly. “It _feels_ like someone’s there. You must be an Angel, ‘cause Ma is definitely going to Heaven.” Taking a deep breath, Steve continued, “Please take care of her. I’ll be fine, just… make sure she’s happy.” By the end Steve’s voice was breaking again by the end, and he bent back over his mom’s form, beginning a prayer.

 

Sarah gasped softly, hands covering a wobbly smile. Bucky whispered, “Let’s go,” grabbing hold of her hand. As Bucky whisked her up to Heaven (to be reunited with Joe), he fought to stay focused and separate himself from the pain. He had a duty, a job, he couldn’t lose sight of it….

 

Bucky stayed on Earth with Steve through the funeral, only leaving then because he received a threatening visit from one of Fury’s messengers. Even then he stayed glued to his pond in the Garden, aching to be with Steve and soothe his hurts, even though Bucky knew that it was pointless. Bucky was angry; angry at the world and for Steve, for putting the human through this pain. What would Steve gain by this? Why was he being forced to live a life so fraught with grief? Fate must have a sick sense of humor, if this was how he had arranged Steve’s life.

 

Slowly, over the period of a couple days, Bucky calmed down, and forced himself to think rationally once more. He watched as Steve was taken to a foster home, and continued to watch as Steve’s life was thrown upside down, so _soon_ after the death of the person he loved most. It was almost enough to make Bucky want to go down and simply _take_ Steve himself, take him somewhere far away and make sure nothing hurt him again.

 

There were a few more times that Steve seemed to sense Bucky was there, eyes casting about the otherwise empty room, or freezing at sudden moments as if he could hear something. Every time it happened, Bucky flinched, even knowing that it was physically impossible for Steve to know that he was there. But some barrier had seemed to be temporarily broken, and Steve was more perceptive to Bucky’s energy following his mother’s death. It made Bucky nervous, but also somewhat vindicated, to know that Steve could feel that he wasn’t alone.

 

Over the next couple of months, Bucky could only watch, amazed and increasingly proud, as Steve soldiered on. He kept his head down in the foster home (Bucky only had to break up five fights over two months), did his homework, and was unfailingly polite to all of the staff and his teachers. He didn’t have many friends; Steve had never had much practice with kids his own age, but he was kind enough to those who approached him. The small blonde seemed the perfect (if feisty) teenager, and even though he would be leaving as soon as he turned sixteen in less than a year, Steve seemed to make it his job to leave everyone with a good impression.

 

No one else saw his moments of weakness, late at night in bed when Steve would suddenly be reminded of his mother, or when things became too much and he had to escape to a closet to let it out. Steve took many pains in order to hide his grief and loneliness, and every damn time Bucky’s (metaphorical) heart _broke_. At only fifteen the kid had lost his mother, the only other person he had in life, and was still attempting to make life better for others, whether it was helping them with their chores or defending them on the street. Bucky was reminded yet again of his realization of all those years ago- Steve couldn’t let himself leave others to their pain, he would care for them and stand with them until his body gave out.

 

Never, in all of his millennia, had Bucky encountered a human quite like Steve Rogers, and he most likely never would again.

 

Bucky helped where he could, soothing Steve’s nightmares so that the human could sleep more, or giving him just that bit of extra strength in fights. Bucky would never be able to truly help Steve like the human deserved, but Bucky refused to simply let him be. If anyone deserved support in this world, it was Steve. His strength was unbelievable, and Bucky could still see the absolute brightness of Steve’s soul shining through his thin skin, almost bright enough that Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if other humans started seeing it too. If anything, the past six months since his mother’s death should have dimmed Steve’s enthusiasm for life, but Bucky thanked every power that he knew that that hadn’t been the case.

 

* * *

 

2001- May

 

It had been Natasha’s’ idea, but at first Bucky had resolutely refused. Natasha badgered him for weeks, going from attempting to get him to ‘see reason’ to downright threatening him.

“Bucky, you _know_ it’s what he wants, but he’s too nervous to do it himself.”

“Bucky, come on, you would honestly be doing him a favor.”

“If he were my charge, he’d already be there.”

“James, it’s in his best interest. He can’t stay there forever.”

“If you don’t do something about this, I swear to all that is holy that I will-”

 

“Okay!” Bucky yelled, at the end of his rope. “Fine! Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll give him the idea, give him some encouragement, but that’s _it_. I’m not forcing him to go to art school if he truly doesn’t want to.” Natasha smirked, though she had known from the beginning that she would win this argument. Bucky had known that, too, but that hadn’t meant he would make it easy for her.

 

Steve, finishing up his junior year of high school, still living out of the foster home, needed to be elsewhere. Bucky couldn’t stand to watch him go through the motions, be so selfless to those around him, and _always_ put his feelings last, without getting something in return. Bucky knew, both from the feelings he had seen in Steve and by watching his human research the subject, that Steve was considering dropping out of high school and instead starting art school. It was a brilliant idea- the perfect solution to their problem. Steve needed a new home anyway, and there were apartments for rent near Pratt Institute, which was the closest art school in Brooklyn. The blonde would be able to fully expand his natural artistic talents, all the while escaping a situation that had been slowly trying to crush him (in Bucky’s humble opinion).

 

The blonde had been drawing and coloring (despite his color blindness) since he was old enough to hold a pencil, and while Steve was not Picasso (and Bucky no art critic), Bucky could see that Steve had the potential to be an _amazing_ artist. His life hadn’t made that easy so far, what with not being able to afford the right supplies and almost no one to encourage a younger Steve. Art school seemed to be a perfect answer to the problem- Bucky wasn’t arguing with that.

 

But Steve was uncertain, wavering; he didn’t have enough money for art school and rent, and he was hesitant to leave a place in which he had grown somewhat comfortable. He didn’t think he would cut it professionally. It was understandable, and Bucky applauded Steve’s (for once) logical thinking, but at the same time, it was _frustrating_. Steve deserved so much _more_ than this, and yet again it seemed as though the world would not be offering any breaks to Steve.

 

There wasn’t much Bucky could do, besides what Natasha was suggesting- pushing thoughts and encouragement towards art school into Steve’s mind, coercing him to take the plunge and leave the foster home soon. But Bucky _hated_ doing it. Sure, he had done it to others plenty of times to save Steve’s neck in a fight, and it was handy when he needed to make sure Steve received enough food and extra medication, but Bucky despised forcing thoughts into his charges. It seemed… wrong, an invasion of privacy and trust (but it was allowed, even commonly accepted as a normal practice among Angels, the irony). Bucky wouldn’t want someone else controlling his thoughts and actions, so why should he do the same? “He can get by on his own,” Bucky had said, his own doubt obvious in the tone of his voice.

 

“But he doesn’t _have_ to,” Natasha countered, with a pointed eyebrow lift.

 

As the weeks wore on, and Steve’s sleep got worse and his smile more strained, those broadening shoulders drooping, Bucky’s resolve (and patience with Natasha) waned, and he found himself more than once planning on how to go about convincing Steve to go without actually entering the blond’s mind. Perhaps he could conveniently arrange a scholarship- Steve’s work was definitely good enough. Lay out brochures on the street in Steve’s path? Bucky would catch himself, shake his head, and go back to watching Steve cook or do his homework, chastising himself for plotting on interfering with Steve’s life so much.

 

The school year drew to a close, and Steve walked aimlessly around Brooklyn, his asthma only kicking in once or twice a week rather than once or twice a day now. Bucky fidgeted from the spaces-between, deliberated, argued with himself, before finally making his decision.

 

Steve should go to art school, and Bucky would help get him there.

 

It didn’t take much- a dropped brochures, a few whispered thoughts to Steve about the benefits of school, and a short visit to the Dean, who personally sent a letter and a scholarship offer to Steve after “seeing some of his work displayed in the art department of his high school”. It was probably more work than Bucky should have done, but now that his mind was set, it was all or nothing. And in the end, seeing the wild happiness and joy on Steve’s face as he opened his acceptance letter and the subsequent heated thrumming of his Grace in return, made it completely worth it.

 

Steve immediately started looking for housing, finding in short work a studio apartment that had (quite coincidentally, Bucky would _insist_ to Natasha after the fact) been recently vacated, and was being offered at a very reasonable rate. With a mounting excitement that Bucky could feel- and, Jesus, the kid hadn’t been this happy since before Sarah had passed- Steve haggled with the (very nice, very accommodating; Bucky had quite liked visiting him) landlord and secured himself a place to stay. Steve was ecstatic, collecting art supplies like nobody’s business, and before he knew it Steve was ready to begin art school. Bucky simply watched his human from the Garden with a small smile on his face, resisting the urge to reach out and simply hug his charge.

 

* * *

 

2001- November

 

The first thing Bucky noticed as he entered their garrisons break room was an eerie, tense silence (which didn’t make sense, seeing as all four members were in the small area). He looked from Angel to Angel- Natasha’s blank mask and Thor’s kicked-puppy look- and winced as he saw tumultuous swirls of brown, black, dark blue, and pale green surrounding Bruce. The normally mellow Angel was pacing, his projection’s hair standing straight up where he’d been tugging at it with his hands. Natasha jerked her head towards Bruce, urging Bucky to go over to him.

 

Slightly apprehensive now, Bucky stepped towards Bruce, reaching out a hand to clasp his shoulder. “Bruce- what happened?” Something awful must have happened to Tony, to make the Angel lose his cool like this. Wild scenarios ran through Bucky’s head- assassinated, poisoned, exploded in a workshop accident…. It was no secret that Tony Stark had become a household name, and his penchant for dealing in weapons of mass destruction had made him more than a few enemies. But that was the point of a Guardian Angel- to steer their charges back towards the right path, and protect them from those that would do them harm. If they even _could_ (so maybe Bucky was still furious about the incident from a couple years ago).

 

His thoughts were brought abruptly back to the present as Bruce explained, a thrumming rage behind his words, “Tony was on a mission to showcase his new missile. On the way back, The Ten Rings blew up his caravan, blew up a bomb close enough to get the electromagnetic seeking shards _inside of him_ , and now have him captured in their cave so that he can build them bombs with a _goddamn CAR BATTERY IN HIS CHEST_.” Bruce’s fingers twitched, and Bucky could see his projection faltering, Bruce’s fury forcing his Grace right through it.

 

Bucky ran a hand down Bruce’s back, pushing calming thoughts towards him. “Bruce, Bruce, it’ll be alright. Tony’s smart- he’s a genius- _and_ he has you to help him. He’ll be out of there in no time.” He kept his tone soft and soothing, trying to avoid a Grace implosion in the enclosed space.

 

Bruce looked at him askew, already a bit calmer than he had been a moment ago. “Yea, sure. Except apparently _Fate_ says that I can’t intervene on this one, that Tony _has_ to suffer like this,” he replied acidly, and Bucky could see how much this enraged Bruce. For an Angel to be so calm all the time, there must be such a build-up of anger and hate, and Bucky could sense that Bruce was nearing his breaking point. But Bucky _understood_ \- he winced as he tried to imagine what he would go through if the same thing had (somehow) happened to Steve.

 

“Shit… that’s awful,” Bucky murmured, roping Bruce into a side hug. “You know, I _really_ hate Fate sometimes. The guy must be a total douche.” Bruce chuckled slightly at that, and Bucky gave him a grin in return. “We’ll figure something out, Bruce. Even if we have to sneak around behind Fate’s back to do it.” It wouldn’t be the first time Bucky had defied direct orders for a human, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

 

And that was why, over the next three months, Bucky had had to split his time between Tony and Steve. Every Angel in their garrison had helped out- Bruce had been worn thin after just a couple weeks of having to watch Tony in that hellhole, so the other Seraphs had taken turns Guarding him. Sure, Bucky had gone to watch Steve any chance that he got… but it had seemed that the blonde was doing alright for the time being. Bucky’s charge had succeeded a lot over the past year, settling into art school with a confidence that the blonde had never before had a chance to enjoy. Steve had made friends easily (when he wasn’t trying to pick fights), he was overall healthy, and though he was still smaller than most, he was far from the strangest kid to walk around campus. Steve seemed to truly enjoy expanding his creative horizons, and it made Bucky proud.

 

And if it made him a little forlorn that Steve didn’t seem to need him as much, Bucky immediately banished the thought, because what kind of selfish asshole wishes trouble on someone just so that they can feel needed?

 

And so, he threw himself into his new job. Watching over Tony was… unpleasant, to say the least. To be fair, Bucky had seen worse conditions for some of his charges in the past. But it had been almost physically painful to watch Tony, day after day, obviously in massive amounts of pain from the new hole in his chest, work tirelessly on a way for him and Yinsen to escape.

 

And thank _God_ for Yinsen. He had been like a Guardian where none of them could go- he had advised Tony, and had guided him through the minefield that was the politics of a place like this. Bucky remained convinced to this day that it was only by the sanguinity, bravery, and optimism of Yinsen that Tony had made his escape. And a miraculous escape it had been- Bucky and his garrison had watched in utter shock and amazement as Tony’s insane flying suit actually _worked_ , and Tony flew away from the compound to which he had just laid waste. It was a glorious moment, and the Angels couldn’t help but cheer from their place in the Garden. Bucky looked up and clapped Bruce on the shoulder, and the older Angel gave him a wide grin before immediately going to Tony, Grace falling like a waterfall over him as he faded from view.

 

Reaching over spontaneously to hug Natasha close, Bucky ruffled her hair, ignoring the poison look she shot his way. He was in such a bright mood that even the other Seraph’s grumpiness couldn’t bring him down. It was a rare moment for Bucky; he never truly had much to celebrate for himself, so the only moments of happiness that came by were from his teammates, his family. “ _And from Steve,’_ a voice whispered inside of Bucky, which he promptly brushed aside. This moment was for Tony, and for Bruce, and the always-short length of time during which Bucky honestly thought that things might turn up.

 

And everything seemed to, for the next five months. Tony recovered, turned his company around from producing weapons to producing technology that was incredibly advanced (Bucky suspected that Bruce may have had some input on some of the designs, as many of the things that Tony produced were so ahead of any other _human_ tech, but he wasn’t going to say anything if Bruce didn’t), and finally got his shit together and asked out Pepper.

 

If there ever was a woman more terrifying yet amazing than Pepper Potts, Bucky had failed to meet them in all his millennia of Guarding humans.

 

Jane and Darcy, Thor was happy to report, were excelling at their schooling, the thirteen year old Jane breezing through sophomore year of high school, and the eleven year old Darcy having just build her first circuit board from scratch. Bucky wasn’t sure when the two were destined to meet, but he somewhat feared for the world when they finally did- the two would make a terrifying team, and could probably take over the world if they so pleased (Bucky hoped it wouldn’t come to that).

 

Clint was staying out of trouble for the time being, not having been caught since the last time. Either he was being extremely cautious, or he was getting better at hiding his tracks (Bucky’s bets were on the latter, especially when Natasha was involved in the situation). The crime circus was still operating, though Bucky didn’t know much more than that, as Natasha had been tight-lipped about her human in recent years. The paranoia of being taken away from their charges had been rising after Bucky’s Punishment, and though his Garrison was a group of rule breakers for sure, they also knew when to play it smart.

 

But yet again, Fate had decided that Bucky, accomplished resident Guardian Angel, was too calm in recent months.

 

Or perhaps Fate had nothing to do with it this time.

 

When the first rumbles reached Bucky, he was sitting in the Garden, watching idly (as he did most of his days) as Steve went through his sculpting class, the blonde’s brows furrowed as he concentrated on his (somewhat lumpy) vase. Steve may be an artist, but sculpting was definitely _not_ his forte. The blond sometimes seemed jerky and awkward in his movements, the couple inches added to his height making him unsure of the space he took up (Bucky refused to accept that it was slightly adorable).

 

Another burst of rumbles jostled Bucky out of his peaceful state, and he looked around, wondering where they had come from. Heaven was mostly silent, unless you were physically talking to another Angel. But now periodic grumbles from the ground below him were coming in waves, almost reminiscent of a volcano right before eruption, or of an earthquake. Bucky stood up, feathers ruffling behind him, Grace already dancing around his fingertips. Something was very wrong…

 

Almost immediately after thinking that, Natasha’s voice echoed in his head. _“ **Get back here, northern edge of the Garden. Something is attacking us.** ”_ Shock momentarily filtered through him, before the calm and cool certainty of battle settled over his mind. He hadn’t had to fight in centuries- there weren’t many things that were strong or skilled enough to get into Heaven by force- but combat skills were not something that Angels forgot easily.

 

Bucky instantly wrapped his Grace and wings around him, flying as quickly as he could to the spot Natasha had showed him. Indeed, when he landed, he saw dark black shapes, things that flickered in and out of the Planes, bearing down on the gathering of Angels there. He could see his garrison (Thor swinging mighty blasts of Grace every which way and Natasha gracefully spinning around the smoke-like apparitions, easily disposing of them with concentrated shots), Phil’s garrison, and even Xavier’s Defense garrison, all flying around each other and fighting back to back. It was a sight that made him smile, the feeling bittersweet- as much as he hated combat, Bucky was heartened by the teamwork he could see.

 

His thoughts were interrupted as one of the strange beings changed its course and shot straight towards Bucky’s head, though he blew it into pieces with an almost lazy wave of his arm. That got the attention of more of the black specters, and Bucky was immediately surrounded. All other sounds and thoughts faded away, until Bucky was completely focused on the battle. There were more enemies that he had originally thought, and some were harder to put down than others, showing that they were not, in fact, all the same. But Bucky didn’t bother to ruminate on the what, why, or how of the situation- he only focused on destroying them.

 

It was a state of being that Bucky did not particularly enjoy. There was a reason that Bucky had climbed ranks so quickly, in both Defense and Guardian garrisons- Bucky was good at what he did. His fighting technique was similar to Natasha’s- deadly grace and skill, flitting through the shadows and around the enemies, quick and accurate and feral. The two Angels made quite a team, but were just as dangerous alone. But when Bucky was in a battle, his mind seemed void of anything but a frozen body of water, calm and focused. It was easy to get carried away, utterly destroying a threat, and Bucky often found himself and his Grace trembling afterwards. He _hated_ it.

 

The battle was over within half an hour, the various garrisons picking their members up and drifting away to confer with each other. Bucky diminished the Grace still sparking around him, quelling the twitching urge to go hunt down more attackers, keep attacking and _killing th-_ , cleared his throat, and gathered his little garrison to him. “Hey, everyone. Good work. Thanks for letting me know, Natasha,” he greeted them, clasping a hand lightly to Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce and Natasha grinned back at him, but Bucky could see that Thor was deep in thought, with a troubled look on his face.

 

Reaching over, Bucky patted Thor on the arm, offering some comfort as well as getting his attention. “What’s going on, Thor? Do you know what those were?” There was every chance that the older Angel did- he had been fighting for Heaven for much longer than Bucky; if there was any Angel who knew what they were up against, it would be the former Angel of War.

 

“I believe so….” the blonde answered reluctantly, chin in hand. “I have seen these abominations before. They are exactly the kinds of spirits that Loki raised long ago, the spirits of humans trapped in limbo. While these spirits are not malevolent, they are confused and unhappy, and therefore follow whoever is controlling them.” Thor looked back up at his team members, frowning unhappily. “I believe that Loki may have started doing this deed again, and he is controlling these lost spirits in order to bring chaos to Heaven.”

 

Bucky gaped; a rogue Angel using purgatory-trapped souls was most definitely not what he had been expecting. Bruce cleared his throat, asking carefully, “Are you sure this is Loki’s doing?” And Bucky had to silently applaud Bruce on his even tone- this was an inexcusable act, and if Thor’s brother was to blame, then it would make hunting Loki down difficult, to say the least.

 

Thor nodded. “Aye, I am almost positive. In addition to these being the same types of spirits, I recognize the pattern. This was simply a test, a preview, as it were. Loki is gearing up to try and bring more trouble and pain, and today he simply wanted to test our mettle.”

 

 _‘Well isn’t that disheartening,’_ Bucky thought, mentally adding this to the growing list of stresses in his life. They had no way of knowing where Loki even was, or when and how he would launch his next attack. Or why he was doing this, other than the fact that he was apparently a few cards short of a full deck. But Thor looked miserable, which added a complication- _if_ they could catch Loki, would Thor even let them? Would he side with his long-lost brother, or bring justice? Sighing, Bucky scrubbed at his face, waving a hand to dismiss his garrison.

 

_‘I’m glad you don’t have to deal with this, Stevie.’_

* * *

 

 

2002- February

 

Bucky sighed as he felt the summoning whirl around him, the invisible swaths of Grace almost seeming to tap him on the shoulder before dissipating. Sometimes, Maria had the absolute worst timing- currently Steve was attempting to paint the view from outside the window of his apartment, and Bucky loved watching him work. He held the brush confidently in his hands, and though he wasn’t as skilled with this medium as he was with plain sketching, the kid had _talent_. His first year at art school had done him lots of good, and he seemed much happier these days. Never got out much, but… Stevie was doing alright. Bucky felt warmth rush through him at the calm sight before him, and he almost decided to stay and watch for a bit longer anyway.

 

It still sometimes caught Bucky by surprise, how nicely Steve had grown up. He had managed to gain a few inches of height throughout high school, and no longer looked like a bundle of twigs, more muscle on his frame than ever before. Steve was healthier than he had ever been, had barely even needed Bucky for medical emergencies in years (now, getting him out of fights, that was a different story). But… there was just this incredible warmth that suffused through Bucky, making his Grace glow that much brighter- a humming satisfaction and a tingling _push_ that Bucky couldn’t name- whenever he could see how much better Steve was doing now. Bucky could sit and watch him paint for days.

 

But, alas, unless he wanted another tongue-lashing from Maria, he had better report to her office. Everyone had been on high alert since Loki- or, whoever had sent the trapped spirits- had attacked Heaven. Something like that hadn’t happened in millennia, and it had set every Angel (Bucky included) on edge. Now was not the time to disobey orders or try to be a smart-ass. With one last flicker of Grace making the snow sparkle just a bit brighter in front of the small apartment building, Bucky whisked away back to Heaven.

 

Maria was seated expectantly at her desk, and her only way of greeting was a curt nod as Bucky appeared in her office. Jumping right in, she said, “You’re getting a new team mate today. Young kid, name’s Pietro. Bit of a hooligan, but he’s got a good heart. Later today, there’s going to be a shooting incident, and he’s gonna go out protecting some kid from the neighborhood.” Bucky winced, swallowing hard. He had always admired Maria’s ability to stay cool and calm, only the barest downturn to her mouth belying her upset. “Usually, he’d just be brought up here, but he’s leaving behind a twin sister, Wanda. She’ll need guidance now more than ever, and so Pietro will be assigned to her.”

 

Bucky felt his jaw drop, eyebrows raising in surprise. Not only was it unusual for a human soul to be made into an Angel (not unheard of, but incredibly rare), usually a soul had to be an Angel for _centuries_ before they were trusted with being a Guardian. It never happened like this, one right after the other. “Is that… wise?” Bucky asked, gesturing vaguely with his hand. This would be quite a big change as it was for Pietro, and Bucky wasn’t sure that adding the extra pressure from being a Guardian would be best for the newly-changed soul.

 

With a wry smirk that indicated at least a sliver of agreement, Maria shrugged. “Personally, I wouldn’t have thought of it myself. But the orders don’t come from me.” Wasn’t that an understatement. “Wanda is… difficult, to say the least. She and her brother kept each other in check for the most part, but now with Pietro gone… she could go a bit off the reservation. She’ll need the help.”

 

Snorting softly, Bucky shook his head. That’s how it always started, but things never ended up the way you wanted them to. His ordeals with Steve- the illnesses, the countless fights, the constant sources of pain and grief, and Bucky’s inability to escape the rules to just _help_ \- had shown Bucky that sometimes, you just _couldn’t fucking win_. Letting out another sigh, he shoved his hand through his hair (prompting a slight smile from Maria) and nodded. “Alright, send him right to me. I’ll be waiting for him.”

 

“Thanks, Bucky.” Maria’s dismissal was soft, and she let Bucky see the light swirls of magenta that surrounded her. “I know you’ll be a great mentor for him. He’s been through a lot.” Bucky let her see his returning smile before whirling away to a secluded corner of the Garden to wait. He had no idea where even to start with this kid- it would be bad enough adjusting to the fact that he was _dead_ ; then he would have to accept the fact that now he had to watch his sister from above, living her life without him there. Frankly, it was an _awful_ deal, and Bucky chewed at his lip nervously.

 

In all honesty, he was probably the _worst_ Angel for this job. Sure, he was a leader of a Garrison, and was getting on in millennia. He had had his fair share of successful charges. But Bucky was… _not right_. He got way too involved in almost every single one of his humans’ lives; he just cared way too much, and it affected his work (as with Steve, case and point). Angels weren’t meant to _feel_ , and though sometimes Bucky wished that he could just cut out all of his confusing, human-like emotions, he knew deep inside that they set him apart, and that he was a better Guardian for it, no matter what Zola (cue shudders and a suppression of that thought) said to him during Punishments.

 

Even if Bucky didn’t understand many emotions besides anger, loss, and… _warmth_ , he wouldn’t take them back for anything.

 

And so, he was no closer to solving his moral dilemma when- in a chaotic _whoosh_ of light and feathers- Pietro Maximoff appeared before him. The kid was young- couldn’t be more than twenty. He obviously had no handle on his powers yet, as he was still leaking Grace everywhere, projection barely there, and his aura easily visible in hues of burnt orange and brown violently whisking by. “Who are you? What is this place?” Pietro immediately asked, accent heavy.

 

Raising his hands up soothingly, Bucky began to speak, pushing calming thoughts towards the unguarded newborn Angel. “Hey- it’s alright. Calm down. My name is Bucky. Pietro, right?” Bucky kept up the smooth rambling, watching Pietro slowly become less twitchy. “There’s really no way to sugarcoat this… but you’re dead. You died protecting that kid,” Bucky paused, quickly scanning for the name, “Petyr. This… this is Heaven. You’re an Angel, more specifically a Guardian Angel, the same as me.”

 

Bucky paused, letting Pietro take his words in. The blonde’s eyes widened, and he immediately started examining his body, whatever he saw- golden Grace pouring out, the auras surrounding him and Bucky, the _wings sticking out of his back_ \- making his eyes go wider and his breath come faster. “Hey, hey- look at me,” Bucky waited again, until Pietro made eye contact once more. “It’ll be alright. Look, I’m sorry so much has changed, and I’m here to help you as much as possible. You have a sister, Wanda, right?” At the sound of his sister’s name, Pietro flinched, nodding miserably. “Well, she’s your job now. You’re here, as a Guardian Angel, to watch over her. Just like you’ve always done, right?” That received another shaky nod. “Good. Now, calm down a bit, and take deep breaths.” Technically, they didn’t need to breathe, but the action would calm him down (hopefully) all the same.

 

Pietro took three deep breaths, and it seemed to work, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. He was silent for a moment, before he looked back up at Bucky. “So… I am dead? And now I watch over Wanda from… Heaven?” He still looked distrustful, as if he didn’t know whether or not to believe Bucky. Which was reasonable.

 

Taking another cautious step forward, still keeping his voice smooth and low, Bucky began to explain. “You, and me, we’re Angels. Yes, straight from the Bible. Sorta. We’re classified as Seraphs, third sphere, one of the lower ranking classes. Right above us in the second sphere are Powers- you’re gonna be in my garrison, so our Power is Maria. She’s a good one, I promise. You’ll also sometimes work with Coulson- he’s another Power in charge of a few other garrisons. Above them, in the first sphere, are Rulers- the Ruler for the division of Guardianship is Fury. He’s tough, and not my favorite, I’ll admit. But he gets the job done.”

 

Pietro was watching him with wide eyes, listening but not absorbing too much. The kid was still panicking; Bucky could almost hear his racing thoughts without even trying. Sighing, Bucky tugged at his projection’s hair. “Alright, look. I know this is a lot to take in, but now you’ve got a job. You have to watch over Wanda, protect her, keep her on the right path. Can you do that?”

 

There was a weighted pause as Pietro tried to gather himself, the mention of his sister seeming to bring him some stability. Bucky felt for him, he really did- being an Angel was hard enough, but add in the fresh human emotions and memories and loss… it was a nightmare in the making. When the newest Angel looked back up at Bucky, he had a smirk on his lips. “I have been doing that my whole life, why stop now in death?”

 

That startled a laugh out of Bucky, and he grinned a Pietro, giving him a nod of approval. “Very good point.” He could tell that this kid would fit right in. “Now… I’m gonna start off with teaching you about hiding your Grace and true self, and using your projection….”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	5. Chapter 5

_What a strange thing this is,_

_growing like a living creature,_

_as easily crushed as paper yet_

_stronger than steel_

 

 

2003- April

 

“Does Steve look… different to you?” Natasha prompted, the flat tone to her voice indicating that she knew something that Bucky didn’t. Bucky studiously avoided looking at Natasha, because she _knew_ that he knew, and that he hadn’t said anything. Because how could Bucky have explained this? Steve had always been small, but it had seemed that as he reached puberty he had finally grown more into his skin, gaining a few inches of height and some flesh on his bones. But Steve, three months out from turning 18, was undoubtedly healthy. Ridiculously so. If Bucky hadn’t been observing Steve for the past four years himself, Bucky probably wouldn’t have recognized him.

 

The blonde was now over six feet tall, weighing in at probably almost 200 pounds, every single ounce of them pure muscle. It was anyone’s dream body, and Bucky could see that in the way that women and men alike stared openly at Steve as he walked down the street. Somehow, over the past two years, Steve had turned into something like a Greek statue. It hadn’t happened overnight, but it might as well have for how quickly it did happen. The blonde had been average, maybe a little short at five foot eight, but with some time to grow and a decent amount of muscle tone. His heart hadn’t troubled him for years, neither had his back, and his asthma had all but gone away. Bucky had thought that it was the move, leaving a crummy apartment for a much cleaner one.

 

But, the next time Bucky had looked, Steve kept on growing, and growing, into what he was today. Bucky clenched his jaw, shoving down the tide of tangled emotions that always rose when the subject came up- confusion, happiness, and a whole host of other things (many of them unpleasant) that he honestly didn’t have a name for. It drove him crazy- he should feel nothing but gratitude that Steve, little Steve, had grown up, and finally had the body to match his golden heart. But it wasn’t just that, there was something off about him, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice how _good_ Steve looked. Steve had even gotten his first girlfriend (which hadn’t lasted long), and then his first _boyfriend_ (who was still going steady), and though it made Bucky proud that others were finally able to see how inherently _good_ Steve was, it just… bothered him in ways he couldn’t explain and that he didn’t want to examine.

 

But now even other Angels were taking notice, and it made Bucky’s wings twitch and bristle. “Hmm… strange growth spurt,” Natasha continued talking as if Bucky weren’t there, “and he’s glowing. Not just, you know, sun-kissed. There’s a _glow_ there. Bucky.” At the change in tone, Bucky’s eyes slid sideways, looking warily at his friend. “What did you do?”

 

He was shaking his head before she even finished her question. “Nothing. Nothing. I didn’t do anything. He was growing… normally, for a human, through high school. Then, suddenly, over the past two years….” Bucky gestured helplessly at Steve, who was currently calmly sketching in a note book, shirtless in the hot spring weather. But Bucky had noticed the glow too, and if Natasha knew, then it was only a matter of time….

 

Lime green and brown sparked around Bucky, and he turned pleadingly to Natasha. “I don’t know what happened, but I didn’t do it on purpose. But you can’t tell anyone. If someone found out….” Well, Bucky didn’t even know what this was, but he still knew that something bad could happen to Steve- or himself- if a higher up Angel saw it.

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “You know I won’t. But… this looks familiar. You haven’t melded with him again, have you?” Bucky shook his head- he wouldn’t risk it. “Okay… well, when was the last time you touched him with your Grace?”

 

Ignoring the suggestive tone Natasha tried to tease him with, Bucky thought. He hadn’t been as involved with Steve’s life in recent years, due to Tony’s capture, Loki’s actions, and teaching Pietro. But the last significant thing that Bucky had used a lot of Grace for was…. “Scarlet Fever. In 1999. I healed him completely from it. Got dragged back to Punishment for it, too,” he muttered afterwards.

 

The red-headed Seraph nodded. “It was probably then. He was 13, just ready to maybe finally start growing by himself, and you doused him with a whole lot of Grace. It’s probably still in there, making him grow bigger and stronger than he ever would, and it slowly healed the rest of his illnesses and disabilities.” She said this very matter-of-factly, as if it was nothing serious, just talking about the weather.

 

Bucky stared at her, open mouthed. “So… when I healed his Scarlet Fever… I healed everything? And left Grace inside of him?” he asked weakly. Natasha nodded, lips quirking up oddly. “Fuck…” Bucky rasped, looking back down at Steve, who had gone about his life not knowing a thing. “That’s… very against the rules.” _‘Understatement of the century.’_

 

Snorting, Natasha replied, “Completely. Which is why you need to be even more careful.” She held up a hand to stop Bucky’s protests. “I know you have been, except for that one slip up, but now if anyone finds out… they could claim that he’s a Nephilim, and destroy him.”

 

Bucky winced, hoping to everything good in this world that that wouldn’t happen. He didn’t want Rumlow or Pierce anywhere near Steve. “Okay.” He blew out a breath. “Okay. I can handle this. It’s not so bad. He’ll be fine.” This had never happened before, but Nephilim- half Angel, half human creatures often missing a soul- were bad enough that everything could go incredibly wrong if the news reached the wrong people.

 

“Heaven is wound tighter than a drum these days, after the attack last year. You really don’t have much wiggle room, Bucky,” Natasha warned, raising both of her eyebrows.

 

“I _know_ , Natasha. I’ll do… something,” he retorted, hand on his mouth as he focused his attention back on Steve.

 

Natasha shook her head with a snort and disappeared without a trace, leaving Bucky with his thoughts. Biting his lip, Bucky lightly skimmed the surface of the pond in the Garden, as if he could actually trace the freckles on Steve’s cheekbone. “God, I’m sorry, Stevie. I just keep fucking up, don’t I?” he murmured, Grace thrashing at itself in a tide of unhelpful and strong emotions. “You deserve a better Angel than I. But now you’re stuck with me, a Seraph that can’t even go five years without ruining your life.” With a sharp shake of his head. Bucky dismissed the image from the surface of the water, and turned around, prepared to fly away until he couldn’t feel his wings anymore.

  

* * *

 

 

2003- September

 

“Alright, that’s good. Now I want you to focus on that particular leaf. Use your Grace, _feel_ the leaf, and make it live its entire life cycle in just a few seconds,” Bucky instructed, watching Pietro with crossed arms. They were outside, on the edge of the Garden- Bucky always preferred training outdoors away from the oppressive walls of the training arena.

 

The younger Angel furrowed his brow, tongue sticking out slightly with the force of his concentration. Pietro had gained basic control over his Grace and flight rapidly, and the new Seraph could often be found zipping around from one end of Heaven to the other. Now Bucky was attempting to teach him finer control of his powers, to accomplish delicate tasks that just throwing your Grace at wouldn’t help. It took a few moments, but finally the leaf in question unfurled and brightened, before slowly turning orange, red, brown, and falling off of the tree. Bucky was about to give Pietro praise, but abruptly the leaf on the ground before them caught fire, quickly burning to nothing. Bucky winced.

 

“Oops,” Pietro said, a smile still ticking at his lips.

 

Sighing- even though he was still pleased at the progress his student was making- Bucky offered token scolding. “Now imagine that had been a delicate part of your charge’s body you were trying to heal. Not good. But… good job up until then.” Bucky thought that training his student this much- every day, for hours at a time- was a bit overkill, but the higher ups wanted every Angel prepared in case there was another attack.

 

Pietro winked at Bucky, sporting a full grin now. “Thanks, teach. But… can we stop playing with leaves and twigs? I feel as if I am not actually getting to practice the real things.” It was a common request, Pietro constantly getting antsy if he stayed on menial tasks for too long. Of course, delicacy and faith in your abilities were probably some of the most important things to learn, but Bucky’s impatient student hadn’t come to understand that yet.

 

Raising an eyebrow, Bucky asked, “Would you rather I go put your sister in danger so that you can ‘practice the real things’ while protecting her?” It was an empty threat, and they both knew it, but Pietro’s face still scrunched up. Bucky refused to admit that it was adorable. Pietro was a good student, one of Bucky’s most impressive in recent millennia. He was determined to be the best he could, a quick learner, and always enthusiastic… even if he was a little shit sometimes. “What would you want to do instead then?” Bucky asked, humoring him.

 

But Pietro turned uncharacteristically silent, looking down at the ground and fidgeting. Though he had been getting better at hiding himself, his aura and his thoughts, Bucky could still see that something was eating away at him by the grey and lime green wisps floating about his head. Bucky frowned, prompting, “Okay, junior, spill. What happened?”

 

Sighing, Pietro shrugged stiffly. “Nothing _happened_ … it is just… I miss my sister.” He immediately froze, as if he hadn’t meant to say that. “I mean… I know I am not supposed to- feel, that is- but I….”

 

 _‘Fucking shit.’_ Once again, Bucky found himself to be the worst Angel possible for the job. He was Pietro’s mentor, which meant he was to teach him everything about being a Guardian. _Including_ not allowing himself to feel extraneous emotions that could jeopardize a mission or task. It’s just that… they haven’t really gotten to that part of the training yet, and Bucky wasn’t eager to start it.

 

It was true, that not having real emotions could be seen as an advantage in some situations, and it certainly protects someone from the horrors of the real world. But Bucky had done his time as a mindless soldier, even done his time as an uncaring Guardian following the rules. But then he had starting watching humans, studying them, _learning_ from them, and he never looked back. What was life without the ability to enjoy the little things, or the ability to feel pain after someone passes, to know that it was real? It was impossible to explain, and had landed Bucky in Punishment probably more times than any other Angel. Brutal though Punishment may be, Bucky would rather be a kind Guardian with scars than an uncaring, empty observer.

 

Swallowing, he reached out, putting a hand on Pietro’s shoulder. “Look, kid. I am probably the worst Angel from which to seek help about this. I’ve never been able to get rid of my emotions, merely suppress them enough when the time calls for it. In a way… it’s helped me become a better Guardian.” Biting his lip, Bucky continued, “I’m supposed to teach you that it’s wrong, that it’s a distraction and wrong, and that Angels aren’t supposed to lower themselves so much as to have human emotions.” It was a practice that had gotten more stringent and worse during Bucky’s millennia, and he personally thought that every flippant higher Angel who endorsed these practices was _dead wrong_.

 

Pietro looked up at the pause, studying Bucky’s face with shrewd eyes. “But…?” he prompted, wings drooping a bit less behind him.

 

Another deep breath, a slight squeeze of his hand before he let go. “In the end, it’s worth it. It’s worth it to make friends with other Angels, to really _feel_ the passing of a charge, to actually care for your human. Besides, you were a human only a few months ago, it would only make sense.” Bucky grinned a bit, breaking the tense atmosphere. “Just… keep it on the down-low, alright? I can tell you from many, many personal experiences that Punishment is no cakewalk.”

 

Pietro nodded eagerly, grinning back brightly at Bucky. He opened his mouth, started to say, “Bucky, there is something I must-” before he was interrupted with an enormous _crash_ and screeching howls. Both Seraphs jumped, wings shooting out defensively. “It’s coming from the center of the Garden.” Pietro noted, confusion and fear flitting across his features.

 

Nodding sharply, Bucky called the light strands to himself. “Let’s go.” The two sped off towards the sounds of fighting and shrieking, Pietro keeping pace with Bucky without any effort at all. Within milliseconds they arrived, only to see chaos laid out before them. Supposedly, Heaven’s Defense division had been upping the guard, training more Angels and being on constant watch to make sure this hadn’t happened again. Somehow, the extra precautions and wariness had failed.

 

The black monsters were back again. Only this time, there were three times as many, and they seemed more directed, more violent. Bucky could see patterns in their attacks, and they seemed to be working together now, not randomly flying around as they had done before. Bucky immediately threw himself into the battle, Grace flying from his hands left and right, intent on destroying every single one of the things until Heaven was safe again. Bucky didn't know the extent of these things’ strength, or what they could do if they found their way into the humans' Heavens, but he didn't want to find out.

 

Taking a quick glance around, Bucky jumped and flew up, hovering above the battle. He strained to spot his garrison amidst the flashes and bangs. Natasha was holding her own against four of the nebulous black spirits, twirling and kicking much too gracefully for a battle. Thor was smashing the creatures away, little finesse to his movements, face drawn into a resigned and terrible frown, and Bucky knew that Loki was once again meddling in their affairs. Bruce was fighting quietly and determinedly, taking out spirits with surprising strength, showing no mercy in their destruction. Pietro was... doing alright, actually, using his impressive flight skills to flit around and zap the spirits with Grace before they even knew that he was there. Just as Bucky was filled with pride for his student, a sharp and blinding agony hit his right wing, and he immediately dropped to the grass of the Garden, Grace leaking out onto the ground around him.

 

One of the shadows had gotten too close during his recon, and now Bucky had a foot long tear in his wing, Grace sluggishly dripping from the wound. Hissing angrily in pain, Bucky whirled around, sending Grace flying towards the specter, watching with grim satisfaction as it exploded. Shaking his head- his wing would heal, as long as he didn't use it too much yet- he threw himself back into the battle with renewed fervor, once more letting the icy calmness he so despised take over his mind.

 

They fought for what felt like hours, Bucky's and Coulson's and Xavier's and Charles's garrisons, plus others from the Defense branch, all outnumbered by the soaring and screeching black shapes in the sky. Just as Bucky thought that there could be no end to this, spotaneously the attack stopped, the remaining spirits fleeing back up into the sky, presumably out of Heaven. Chest heaving with breathe he didn't really need, Bucky looked around, slightly confused. The other various Angels limped towards him, converging in the center of the Garden, guard not able to fall just yet. Bucky swallowed heavily as he saw a few bodies lying nearer to the edge of the Garden, shining Grace spreading out on the ground below them. He looked away quickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

 

A tall and sallow figure suddenly appeared before them- Loki, Bucky thought, even though he had never seen the other Angel before. His black hair was swept back from him forehead, barely brushing his ears, and he was dressed in black leather under an overcoat. Before him he held in his grasp a small brunette woman, obviously unconscious by the way her head lolled and her feet dragged. He looked smugly triumphant, bright green eyes flicking about as he surveyed the gathered garrisons.

 

"My my, a welcome party, just for me?" he asked, his voice surprisingly deep and velvet smooth. Bucky could barely see a hint of black and almost skeletal wings stretching out behind him- not quite the mangled remains of a Fallen Angel’s, but it was obvious that he was no longer a true Angel. "You shouldn't have."

 

Bucky stepped forward, more than willing to get that acidic gaze off of the rest of his friends and focused onto himself. "Oh, it's our pleasure," he retorted, crossing his arms and letting his wings flare and bristle behind him. He knew nothing about Loki, not really, but he wasn't sure that he could take Loki down, at least not easily. The other Angel was millions of years older than Bucky, and was obviously capable of some impressive magic and power. Didn't mean Bucky wouldn't try, though.

 

Loki's gaze snapped to Bucky. "Hm. You must be Bucky, the _child_ that is in charge of my oaf of a brother." Bucky didn't give him a response, merely raising his brow at him. Bucky could sense Thor's agitation and anger growing behind him like a cumulus cloud, and he sent back a tendril of Grace to calm the other Seraph. This had to be dealt with carefully, or the attack could resume, or Loki’s hostage- whoever she was- could be injured. Thor quieted reluctantly, his wings almost crackling with the force of his tumultuous Grace.

 

"What are you doing here? Why are you attacking us?" Bucky called out. He didn’t expect an answer, but the bad guys always loved to talk, didn’t they?

 

Loki snorted. "I do as I please." But, it was obvious he couldn't resist getting in a few jabs. "I was merely paying a visit to my brother's human, Jane. Quite an interesting specimen...."

 

So that was Jane that Loki had in his grasp. The poor girl was pale, though blessedly still asleep. "Why?" Bucky pressed, glaring at Loki. Loki should not have even known where to find Jane, or be given the opportunity to, or even known she existed. Going after another Angel's charge... that was the lowest blow, and Thor's rage grew into an almost tangible thing. Bruce placed a warning hand on Thor’s shoulder, though if the older Angel wanted to charge his brother, nothing could really stop him.

 

Carelessly shrugging, Loki seemed to be perfectly at ease, even surrounded by his enemies. "I wanted to see for myself what has my brother so enthralled. And I have to say, I do see the appeal. However, worry not, she is not the human in which I am interested." Loki left his vague statement at that, lightly tapping a pale finger against Jane's arm. Bucky heard a few of the Angels shift at the choice of words- _‘Enthralled? Interested in? What have they been up to with these humans?’_ \- and Loki simply smirked again.

 

"Brother, release her. If you wish to speak with me, then leave my charge out of it," Thor commanded, thunder in his voice and Grace whipping about. Even Bucky felt a shiver, a visceral reaction to an elder Angel using such a commanding tone. He had to consciously tell himself to stand down, and remind himself that _he_ was in charge here- he wasn’t expected to bow down and listen to Thor.

 

Elegantly, Loki rolled his eyes. "If I had wanted to talk to you, brother, I would not have gone through this much trouble. I am merely entertaining myself, testing out the mettle of these new garrisons, surveying what has been going on in my absence." He clucked, shaking his head condescendingly. "I am not impressed, I have to say."

 

Natasha piped up, wound up and steely. "Then why bother with the human?" Bucky alone could see rage and frustration brewing in her, see through her mask she was putting up, though he didn’t really have a spare moment to wonder why the usually stoic Angel was getting so riled up.

 

"This? This is just a statement. Chaos is my game, as you know." And it seemed to be true, at least to Bucky. Loki didn't seem to have any real plans to harm Jane, even putting her to sleep so that she wouldn't register what was going on, or find out about Guardian Angels. But he still went after her, knew where she was... which meant he could find any of their humans. Bucky's Grace shuddered, thoughts immediately going to Steve, hoping that he was safe, that Loki didn't care enough about him to go after him. He had to quell an immediate urge to fly to wherever his human was, hurt wing or no.

 

To Bucky's right, Thor stepped forward, voice softened from before. "Brother... I have no idea what ails you. But please, I can help. I... I miss you, still. You belong here. I can speak to my superiors, campaign for your case. It has been long enough… you should come home." He was earnest, his face open and pleading.

 

That seemed to stop Loki in his tracks. He blinked, opened his mouth, blinked again, and seemed at a loss for words. Bucky thought he saw a mysterious sheen to his eyes, but it could just as well be an act. "I don't belong here and you know it." Loki finally recovered, though his voice was a bit rougher than before. "Your _superiors_ saw to that long ago,” he sneered. "Besides, I live without rules now, I can have all the fun that I want."

 

Bucky had been watching humans for almost his entire life. He knew how to read them better than most Angels did, and it came in handy plenty with his charges. But what he was seeing now... Loki seemed to be convincing himself that he liked it better this way. His grip on Jane had turned white-knuckled, and he had taken a shuffling half step towards Thor before he had come back to himself. If Bucky were asked... it looked as if Loki wanted nothing more than to accept Thor's offer. But his pride, and his drive for revenge, were too strong, and so he would continue to play the part of evil, spurned Angel as long as he wanted.

 

It made Bucky's throat tight, and he saw the same thoughts flicker across Thor's face, the quiet devastation and crushing guilt obvious on the larger Angel's features. "Is this worth it?" Bucky called out, before he could convince himself not to. "Attacking Heaven, targeting charges, playing the part of Lucifer... it's been millennia, surely the situation can change for the better." Bucky believed in second chances- call him a bleeding heart if you will- and if Loki had been cut off from the host for thousands and thousands of years, trapped on Earth, surely that was punishment enough….

 

Loki's eyes shot back to Bucky, and there were still traces of desperation in that green gaze, but he scoffed at Bucky, tightening his grip on Jane as if to prove his point. "Please. I don't need it to change. Causing mayhem is what I was born to do, obviously, so it is what I shall do." Again, the words rang with a false overconfidence, comforting a mind that was no longer certain. "This will not be the last you see of me, you can be quite sure of that.” He turned back to his brother, insolent smirk back on his features. “Thor, you should keep a better eye on your humans," he _tsk_ ed, before he disappeared, Jane still in hand, green-tinted light snapping and popping around his figure.

 

Thor let out a quiet sound of hurt, and Bucky nodded to him, releasing him to go and find Darcy and Jane, to make sure they were both alright. The rest of the garrisons dispersed, each regrouping to discuss what had happened. Pietro, Bruce, and Natasha came over to Bucky, each sporting expressions of distaste or concern. Fidgeting, Bucky sighed, unsure of what to say. There really wasn’t much _to_ say. Loki was causing trouble of which the likes hadn’t been seen in millions of years, but no real harm had been sustained.

 

But Bucky couldn’t stop worrying about Steve; his Grace was still thrumming fiercely from the fight, and he couldn’t make his wings lie flat for the life of him. Loki’s attack had been even more pointed and strong this time- he had gone after a _human_ \- and it was all Bucky could do to stay calm. Maybe more than he could do. When it became apparent that he wouldn’t be able to sooth himself still surrounded by his garrison, he knew immediately where he had to go to calm himself. With a quick nod to Natasha, he flew off, wrapping the light around himself like a blanket and ignoring the twinge in his injured wing.

 

It was deep in the middle of the night when Bucky landed back down on Earth, probably around three in the morning. Steve was fast asleep in his studio apartment, the single large room looking cluttered yet homey. The city outside continued on, car horns blaring intermittently and sirens going off in the distance. Honestly, Bucky wasn’t even sure if Steve could sleep without the constant background noise of Brooklyn. For some reason the thought made him grin helplessly, the tight anxious thrumming that had taken hold of his Grace gradually calming down into a contented hum.

 

He drifted closer over to where Steve slept, those bright blue eyes closed peacefully in slumber, street lights glinting faintly off of blonde hair. Bucky smiled again, letting his fingers gently run over Steve’s. “Hey, Stevie,” he murmured, quiet even though Steve couldn’t physically hear him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here too often over the past couple of years. Time is different up in Heaven… it’s easier to lose track of it. Plus I’ve been busy, what with Loki stirrin’ up trouble….” Bucky paused, blowing out a sigh.

 

“Ah, who am I kidding? It seemed like you didn’t need me anymore. I mean, look at you- I’ve already interfered with your life enough, and you seem more than happy now. You don’t really need me.” Another pause, Bucky’s Grace shivering in an odd tremor as he looked down at his human. “But, you need to know- just ‘cause I’m not always here, doesn’t mean I’m not always lookin’ out for you. What happened today up in Heaven… it got me worried. Loki knows all about our charges, so he could come after them, after you. And I can’t have that happen… I won’t let it.”

 

His Grace shivered, something bright and hot seeming to reach towards the blond before him. Bending down, Bucky brushed an intangible kiss onto Steve’s forehead, sensing the rightness in the motion even as he wondered why he bothered. “I’ll always be there for you, I’ll be there in a second if you need me. Even if you don’t- don’t _need_ me, I’ll still be around, watching you, ‘cause someone has to take care of you. ’Cause I’m with you, always, until the end of the line. And then some. I’m yours, Steve, as long as you’ll have me.”

 

* * *

 

2003- November

 

Overall, Steve was a good charge. Well, better than _good_ \- he was probably Bucky’s favorite human he’d ever Guarded (of course, having favorites, or even strong emotions towards a charge wasn’t allowed, but Bucky was quickly falling into a sorry state of being, one where his own Grace didn’t know what to do with itself every time he was in Steve’s vicinity). Sure, Steve got into fights a lot, and when he was younger he had given Bucky a heart attack every other month from some illness, but Steve was pure and good and kind. There weren’t many times that Bucky even disliked Steve, let alone wanted to smite the man, but this was one of them, and Bucky _seethed_ as Steve walked out of the Army enlistment office, forms galore clutched in his hand and a proud smile on his face.

 

In hindsight, Bucky should not have been shocked in the least by Steve’s decision. It was practically in his blood, what with his father having served. Plus, Steve had always had a martyr complex, needing to put himself in harm’s way for and take responsibility for everyone around him. It was only natural that Steve would jump at the chance when he could- it probably was a miracle Steve had waited this long after his 18th birthday. Plus, he was the perfect soldier- housing a heart of gold, tall and strong, and willing to lay down his life for the cause.

 

But all of that didn’t mean that Bucky wasn’t on the verge of a meltdown.

 

Bucky knew his emotions were out of control, that he shouldn’t be this upset by this turn of events- both as an Angel and as a logical reaction. Heaven was even under tighter jurisdiction after Loki’s second attack, and it was only a matter of time before someone spotted Bucky having a fit. The edges of a maelstrom of dark colors were visible, and Bucky knew that his wings were twitching and bristling like he was in a fight. But people got hurt in the Army, people _died_ , and if Bucky couldn’t- and Steve was so- and if Steve died, Bucky wouldn’t be able- Steve was the center of Bucky’s _world_ -

 

“Bucky, you may want to put those away- I’m not the only one watching you,” a firm but friendly voice sounded from behind Bucky. The Angel whirled around, though from the calm and warm Grace meeting his, Bucky already knew who it was.

 

“Hi, Betty,” he greeted, voice only sounding a bit strangled. Bucky took a moment to wrest himself back under control, making sure his auras were hidden once more and he appeared normal. Even if Betty was a friend, it was still unwise to show too much disobedience in front of a higher up Angel. “How can I help you?”

 

The pretty brunette projection Betty wore gave him a small smile. “Oh, I’m quite sure you’re the one that needs help.”

 

At that, Bucky made a face, running a hand unnecessarily down the front of the shirt he had conjured. “And how is that?” he replied, playing dumb, _knowing_ that the Power probably already knew everything there was to know about the situation. Natasha had probably sent her, the slippery nuisance she was.

 

Betty tilted her head, just staring at Bucky for a minute or two. There was an unreadable smile on her lips, and her thoughts and aura were completely shielded. Bucky fidgeted slightly under the scrutiny, feeling nervous in a way he rarely ever did. When Betty finally spoke, it wasn’t what Bucky had been expecting.

 

“Do you love him?”

 

He furrowed his brow, rapidly thrown adrift in the conversation. This was veering into a territory he was… not prepared for, one that was toeing a precarious line. “Uh… of course? Angels are meant to love their charges, in a capacity, as-”

 

With a snort, Betty waved a hand, cutting him off. “ _No_ , as in- do you _love_ him?”

 

Bucky frowned, thoughts stalling and running into each other, his Grace doing a strange free-fall. “I… I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Angels were meant not to feel, were not taught about emotions and relations any more than was necessary to work together to protect. _Love_ was… love was a foreign thing, an unreachable abstract, one that Bucky wasn’t even sure Angels knew how to feel. It seemed ridiculous that Betty would ask such a thing.

 

Sighing, Betty reached out and pushed a strand of hair back from Bucky’s face, exasperation and sympathy in her eyes. “Love, Sergeant, is a funny thing. You feel it in your body, your breath, your Grace. You feel warmth, just by looking at a person. Your soul- or Grace, in our case- seems to strain towards that person, wherever they may be, celebrating when they’re near. Have you ever felt as if your Grace was... dancing, if you will? Soaring without wings?”

 

Bucky had stopped breathing as she spoke, or maybe he was hyperventilating- he wasn’t sure. Because the truth was he _had_ felt those things, several times; a need to be near Steve, an incredible warmth when Steve smiled, an ache in his chest when Steve was in distress. But was it _love_? That wasn’t it. Every Angel knew that emotions were simply a weakness, something to be thrown aside in the name of duty- they made you unstable, volatile, a liability. Bucky _couldn’t_ -

 

“There are many things kept from Angels, and this is one of them: love. But it’s possible, _more_ than possible- we are capable of just as many feelings as our humans. But there’s no one to teach us about them, to let others know that it’s _okay_ to feel, it’s safe to love….” At that the Power looked somewhat sad, but her hand hadn’t left its light perch on Bucky’s head. “But Bucky, when you’ve got it, you shouldn’t let it get away.”

 

Bucky was at a loss for words, mouth open and eyes wide, his aura back in full chaotic view, lime green and burnt orange shooting about. Betty couldn’t honestly be saying this, there was so much wrong with this situation, and he didn’t even know what to do. “How?” was what came out, soft and broken. He didn’t know if he believed her- it seemed as if the whole conversation was separate from him, detached in a way that felt much safer.

 

Betty shook her head. “How do I know? Or how do you keep it from getting away?” At Bucky’s blank look she sighed. “I know, because I know what it’s like to be in love. I learned at a young age, and though many have tried to ‘cure me’”, the disdain was clear in her voice, “it all remains. Some things are too strong to be wiped out, certain people or things stay with you, locked deep inside, waiting for their chance. As for not letting it get away….” She paused, taking a step back from Bucky. “That’s up to you. If you love Steve- and I think you do, though you may not know it yet- then you will find a way, whether you wait for him to join us up here, or you do something about it now.”

 

Bucky was left gaping unattractively at the older Angel, wings fully out and poised for a threat because _what the fuck was he supposed to do with this information?_ He was fairly certain that if it was possible for his Grace to have violently jumped out of his being, that’s what would have just happened. Love? Love. It was… inconceivable, incomprehensible, impossible, illogical…. Bucky wasn’t even sure he could pinpoint such a strong emotion like that, could describe what it felt like or know when he was feeling it, know how to spot it. Their corner of the Garden was silent, and Bucky, for the first time in all his millennia, felt as though he could willingly submit himself to Punishment to get rid of this abject fear.

 

Betty gave him a sharp nod and a soft smile, before turning away to leave. It was only with an automatic reflex, centuries of snark overriding the shock and abject confusion, that Bucky was able to call out, “How about you follow your own advice one of these days?” Even to him is sounded weak, voice still airy and uncertain, no conviction behind the words to be found in the gale of his mind.

 

Looking back at him, Betty only laughed, saying, “When Bruce is ready, I’ll be waiting for him.” With that the Power flew away, bright sparks of Grace leaving spots in Bucky’s vision. She left Bucky to stare after Steve as he walked home, whistling, feeling simultaneously crushed under this new knowledge and like an enormous burden had been lifted off of his chest. He slowly sank to the ground in the Garden, eyes still wide, hands holding on to his own wings for support. Bucky had never felt so lost.

 

_‘What do I do now?’_

* * *

 

 

2004- January

  
When Pietro didn’t show up in the training arena for their daily lessons, Bucky frowned. It was unlike Pietro to be late; the young Angel took his duties very seriously, if sarcastically. They were supposed to be doing more sparring today, making sure Pietro was ready- he was nearly finished with his training. But, considering Pietro was an active Guardian, perhaps something had happened with his sister, something that needed Pietro’s immediate attention. If that were the case, hopefully Bucky wouldn’t be kept waiting too long. He sat down against the wall, the position feeling more casual and relaxed even if it made no physical difference to him. Bucky waited, idly wondering what Steve was up to, hoping that the blonde wasn’t getting into too much trouble. Bucky hoped he would _feel_ if Steve was in trouble, but Bucky had failed a few too many times in the past to ever be comfortable in being away from his charge for too long.

 

Time passed, and before Bucky knew it a few hours had passed in an almost meditative calm, and Pietro still hadn’t shown up. Standing up and surveying the still-empty arena with a frown, Bucky twitched his wings, reaching out his Grace to try and feel where Pietro had gone. He couldn’t feel his trainee anywhere, which was odd- it was impossible to completely shield your Grace, especially for such a young Angel as Pietro. _Especially_ from an Angel like Bucky who was so attuned to it. It was… concerning, to say the least.

 

Flying back to his garrison’s room, Bucky materialized back in there to see Thor and Natasha playing poker at the table. Thor greeted him with a smile, while Natasha looked up with concern, obviously able to tell something was wrong. Without really acknowledging either of them, Bucky blurted out, “Have either of you seen Pietro around?”

 

“No,” Natasha frowned, furrowing her brow, “I haven’t. I thought he was with you?” Their cards were lying on the table, forgotten.

 

Bucky shook his head. “He was supposed to show up to sparring a few hours ago, but he never did, which he’s never done. Now, I can’t feel him anywhere, can’t find his Grace.” The tense silence after only confirmed his worries- something wasn’t right, and Pietro could be in trouble.

 

Looking down at the table, Thor spoke up, sounding hesitant. “I know of one place… where you would not be able to feel or sense another Angel’s Grace. However….” The blond Angel winced, looking up apologetically at Bucky.

 

Just like that, with a feeling of having cold water dumped all over his Grace, Bucky knew where he could find Pietro. The one place that Bucky would never go willingly, yet had been forced to more times than he could count. Screwing his eyes shut, Bucky gathered light around him- as much to fly as it was a security blanket- and flew off to the Punishment division.

 

As nice as the rest of Heaven was, Punishment’s division might as well be Hell in Heaven. They had fashioned it into a jail-like building, bleak and dank as a cave. The whole place reeked of spilled Grace, agonized screams of Angels being Punished or Reformed reverberating through the walls. Schmidt ran the whole branch on fear, and Pierce only rejoiced in the power it held over other, lower Angels. Bucky had been dragged off to Punishment so often that even the sight of the building made him cringe, made something deep in his Grace cower with fear and the expectation of torture. It was something deep and primal, and a reaction Bucky was not proud of. Bucky was a strong Seraph, but there was only so much he could do against the sophisticated procedures of Zola's ‘methods’.

 

Steeling himself as much as he could, Bucky marched right into the building, folding his wings in tightly against his back to hide his trembling feathers. Inside was a gross mockery of a reception office, the Angel sitting at the desk wearing a pretty blonde Projection and snapping gum. "What do you want?" they sneered as they saw Bucky, his projection unfortunately well-known here.

 

"Where is Pietro?" he demanded, crossing his arms. The secretary was unimpressed, merely raising an eyebrow. "He is my trainee, and if he is receiving Punishment I deserve to know why." Bucky was under no false pretenses that he would simply be able to waltz out of here with his student; that's not how this place worked. But he was hoping to.... comfort Pietro, or at least show him that Bucky wasn't simply abandoning him to his fate here. The Punishment building was cavernous, however, and without help Bucky would literally never find him.

 

When the secretary still didn't respond, Bucky softened his voice. "Please. He's only been an Angel for a couple of years. This is his first Punishment. Let me see him." It was highly unorthodox, but then Bucky had never been good at following the rules.

 

Just as the blonde Angel rolled their eyes and went back to the human magazine they were reading, something cold trickled down Bucky's spine in warning. Repressing a shudder, he slowly turned around to face Pierce, who had materialized soundlessly behind Bucky. "James! I never thought I'd see you here out of chains. What can I do for you?" the Power asked, smiling benevolently.

 

God, it made him sick. Swallowing, Bucky replied, "I'm here to find my student. Pietro. He never showed up to training today, and I believe that he may be here. I want to see him; he probably doesn't fully understand what's going on." Bucky was sure that Pierce would tell him to fuck off, but Bucky would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try.

 

Pierce studied Bucky with a flat expression, the cold way his eyes flicked over Bucky making the Seraph cringe. After a moment, Pierce responded, "You know that's against the rules, James. You of all Angels should know how it goes around here." He paused, but before Bucky could complain Pierce continued, "However, it is his first offence, and he _has_ been here for quite a few hours. Tell you what- I'm feeling generous today. Go ahead and collect him, cell 32D."

 

Every sentence that came out of Pierce's mouth made Bucky wish that he could physically throw up, but he still inclined his head the tiniest bit, saying, "Thank you, sir," before flying down to level 32 to collect Pietro. However, just as he spread his wings and called the light to him, Pierce clamped a hand on his shoulder, making Bucky jerk in his grip. Scum like Pierce, who were power hungry and greedy and fought to be put into positions of power, were ruining Heaven, making lower Angels suffer and serving their own purposes rather than the humans. It _disgusted_ Bucky, especially because there was nothing he could _do_ about it.

 

“A word of advice, James,” and Pierce spit the name at him, a twist to his mouth, “teach your students better. Learn from your own failures, or more Angels will get hurt because of you.” Pierce gave him a crushing squeeze before disappearing again, leaving Bucky trembling in the fake lobby space. Shaking his head several times, squeezing his shaking fingers into fists, Bucky told himself to _get it together_ , before finally rushing down to find Pietro.

 

As he arrived in front of the cell in question, Bucky slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from gasping. Pietro was in there, all right, but if Bucky hadn't been able to feel the weak thrumming of Pietro's Grace, Bucky might have thought Pietro was already dead. Pietro was strung up by his wings, Grace slowly dripping out of every orifice on his head. His arms looked to be at strange angles, manipulated and held with chains, also covered in cuts and Grace-burns. His eyes were closed, though he was mumbling quietly to himself in Russian. There was no recognition or reaction when Bucky whispered his name, and Bucky wanted to drop to his knees and wrap Pietro in a hug. Or run and beat Pierce into the ground.

 

Hurriedly throwing open the door and jumping into the cell, Bucky broke the restraints from around Pietro's arms. He then carefully and gently unstrung Pietro's wings, the white and tawny feathers dirty and ruffled, covered in oozing Grace. Pietro slumped to the floor, weakly groaning at the sensation. "Pietro... it's Bucky." Bucky bit his lip as Pietro mumbled inaudibly again. "I'm here to take you home. Come on." Reaching down, Bucky scooped Pietro up, calling for the light to whisk them away from this godforsaken place.

 

They both appeared in the break room moments later, startling the rest of the garrison (Bruce had come back from Tony's clean energy convention, Bucky noted distantly). They immediately cleared a path to the table as they saw Pietro's state, and Natasha immediately schooled her expression into one of fierce determination. Pietro had charmed the entire garrison with his antics and jokes, and no one wanted to see such a young Angel hurt so badly anyway.

 

As Bucky alternately paced and helped Natasha by moving Pietro around or summoning a clean rag, he chewed on his lip until a human's would have bled, his Grace churning with concern and residual anger. Since these wounds were inflicted by other Angels, more powerful ones, they wouldn't be able to be healed by Grace. They had to take time- ones of such severity would probably take up to a week, which Bucky knew would drive Pietro mad. That thought made Bucky wince, realizing how close Pietro had been to being smote, or possibly even Fallen. To have such torture inflicted on him- he was so young, it was only his first offense- he must have had to do something incredibly, terribly bad.

 

Minutes ticked by slower than ever as Natasha finished, declaring him the best he would be. Bucky sighed, thanking her with a tired nudge, and settled down to wait by Pietro's side. Giving a quick thought to Steve- no warnings in his Grace today, just the ever present glow that meant Steve was okay and happy, and that warmed Bucky's Grace like a fire- he leaned back in his chair, gently brushing hair back from Pietro's face. The other three sank down into other chairs, each waiting to hear from their youngest garrison member.

 

In the end, they only had to wait for approximately three hours, before Pietro starting mumbling again, shifting restlessly on the table before slowly blinking his eyes open. Bucky immediately grabbed his hand, saying, "Hey, hey, Pietro, it's me. It's Bucky. You're back now, you're not in Punishment any more. We took you back to our room." Pietro stared blearily at Bucky before nodding slowly, eyes becoming clearer and clearer. "How do you feel?" Bucky asked, realizing the second the words were out of his mouth what a stupid question that was.

 

Clearing his throat, Pietro replied, "Like shit." Bucky and Bruce chuckled weakly, while Natasha reached over and put a hand on Pietro's leg. Silence descended on the room once again, Bucky trying to figure out the best way to ask Pietro what had happened without being too blunt. However, Thor- kind, loving, blundering Thor- broke the silence first.

 

"Young Pietro- tell us what happened. How did you find yourself in that place? What did you do?" Bucky and Natasha winced at each other; surely there were nicer ways to put that question. But Pietro frowned, cleared his throat once more, and nodded.

 

"I tried to talk to my sister."

 

Bucky's " _What?!_ " sounded through the room, but Bruce only raised his eyebrows. Natasha raised her eyebrow, face completely neutral, something flickering behind her eyes. There was more silence, and Thor shifted in his seat, hands restless, tapping on the table before finding each other before tapping on the chair.

 

Pietro closed his eyes. "I miss my sister. She misses me. I thought... maybe if I was careful... I didn't appear before her, only tried to give her a message...."

 

Groaning, Bucky put his head in his hands. Christ, what a mess. Half of Bucky wanted to punch the younger Angel for trying something so stupid. Of _course_ he would get caught; Rumlow was always on the hunt for a new Angel to torture. The other half of Bucky ached for Pietro- Bucky himself had no end of trouble with his emotions, and he didn't even have the added complication of coming straight from humanity. Of course it would hurt to leave a loved one behind, and Pietro had no experience in eliminating those negative emotions. Something deep inside Bucky knew that if he could, if he had the ability, he would try to do the same thing with Steve, to somehow get a message to his human, to let him know that he wasn't alone,, that there was someone who lo-

 

With a shake of his head, Bucky looked back up at Pietro. “You know that’s completely, totally, unchangeable forbidden. What were you thinking?”

 

His student didn’t look up, merely studied his wounded hands. “I was _thinking_ that these rules are stupid. Bucky, you told me it was alright to let yourself feel, and I am. And it _hurts._ ”

 

And _God_ , wasn’t that just a stake in Bucky’s Grace. The poor kid and tried to take Bucky’s shitty ass, _worthless_ advice, and was now suffering for it. When Bucky had said ‘it’s okay to feel,’ he didn’t mean _this_. Contact with humans was the number one, most important thing that Angels cannot do. Bucky taught Pietro this, of course, it was one of the first lessons. But Pietro, filled with burning emotions and the bravery of youth (and it hadn’t been tainted at the time, not yet), had tried to anyway. It made Bucky want to scream, cry, throw something, pull Pietro into his arms and wrap him in his wings.

 

Because Bucky _knew_ how Pietro felt, knew it every time he looked at Steve. Bucky ached to just run a hand through Steve’s hair, drop a kiss on his cheek, pull him to his side and just hold him. And he _couldn’t_. It was impossible and not allowed and _wrong_. _‘It’s not fair,’_ Bucky wanted to day, cursing the sky and their superiors. _‘They keep us from our most loved ones in the name of virtue.’_ But he couldn’t, or else he- and possibly everyone else in this room- would be dragged to Punishment. So instead, reaching out and swallowing thickly, Bucky grasped Pietro’s hand again. “I know, buddy. I know.”

 

And boy, did he ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	6. Chapter 6

_If I had known that I would fall into your arms_

_I would have fallen sooner_

 

2004- January

 

The day came, as Bucky knew it would but hoped it wouldn’t, when Steve had to report for training. Steve caught the train from New York into rural New Jersey (Bucky had laughed out loud at the face Steve had made when he had found out just where he’d be training, a New Yorker to the core) just in time to arrive at 8 am sharp, a cold wind snapping at the loose jacket he wore.

 

As he entered into the camp, he was led into an office, where he was given a stack of clothing and sheets, a few odds and ends for training, and instructions to immediately change and set up his bunk. Nodding sharply with a "Siryessir!" Steve hurried after the other men he could see, excitement clearly coloring the air around him. Bucky couldn't help but grin at his human's enthusiasm, and wished that he could just... sling an arm over his shoulders, or ruffle his hair. Something.

 

That afternoon was a whirl of drill sergeants spitting orders and instructions, showing the new cadets around the base and telling them how it all worked. Steve was all wide-eyed wonder, only ever breaking his staring to glare with narrowed eyes at the boys (Hodge and Gibson) beside him, who were quietly snickering and talking to each other. Steve, like Bucky, could probably sense the boys' bad attitude immediately, and Bucky took a moment to pray that Steve wouldn't try to start anything on his first day in the Army. Soon enough they were back in the barracks, and though Hodge purposely tripped Steve up when he came in the door, mercifully the blonde only glared, refraining from throwing a punch.

 

Steve slept soundly that night, despite the (in Bucky's opinion) horrible mattresses they were given. When taps sounded bright an early, accompanied by screaming and banging from the hallway, Steve shot out of bed, getting dressed quickly and efficiently, clearly looking forward to today's events. It made Bucky happy, to see Steve so happy, and the Seraph only wished that it was occurring in a less hazardous place. The first stop of the day after breakfast was PT, where Steve- surprisingly- was able to keep up with, and even beat some of, the rest of the men there. Even though Steve had never really exercised outside of a gym in his life (and even that was only in the past two years) he excelled at all of their tests, even passing the obstacle course with flying colors.

 

It was late in the afternoon when they had all of the now-sweating cadets standing in a row, at attention, waiting to be introduced to their commanding officer Phillips. From what Bucky knew of the man, he was hard but fair, and was a good man to lead. As the colonel in question arrived in the training yard, Bucky saw a murky shape fly out of his hand towards the group of cadets. There was a brief moment of panic from the Angel before he realized that it was a dummy grenade- he had been ready to simply throw the grenade back at Phillips, secrecy or not.

 

However, given that the cadets weren't omniscient celestial beings, they didn't know that the grenade was fake. At the shout of "GRENADE!" they all went flying, diving left and right behind boxes and equipment, arms over their heads. Except for Steve. Bucky realized Steve’s intention a split second before the human moved... jumping onto the grenade.

 

Bucky saw red, and had to grit his teeth to keep from materializing right then and there to berate Steve. _What if that had been a real grenade, Steve? Huh? Bigger body or not, you woulda been blown to smithereens, and for what? For protecting this measly group of kids? Half of them don't even know you, and less than that even like you. What kind of Guardian Angel do you take me for- why you always gotta test me, Stevie? I wouldn't have had time to do much, you could've died for fuck's sake-_

 

Groaning, his head in his hands, Bucky immediately recalled every single reason why he hadn't wanted Steve to go into the military, and rescinded all of his good feelings about Steve enjoying himself. These next few years were going to be Hell, and Bucky may end up killing Steve himself. Needing to disappear for a bit- once he was sure his charge was actually unharmed- Bucky wrapped himself in the warm light and flew back up to Heaven, hoping that some of his garrison was there to distract him.

 

Luck was with him that day, as when he entered all four of the other members were seated around the small table, aimlessly chatting. It had been a while since they had all been together, as there had been patrols organized to watch for anything signifying Loki’s return. Defense division had been run ragged, so now other divisions were being required to help keep watch. But it warmed Bucky's heart to see his garrison relaxing together- they were unique, in that they all in some way had adapted human-like customs and behaviors that allowed them to leave behind the normal stiffness and arrogance of other angels. They made quite a team, and Bucky heaved a (physically useless) sigh as the thought filled him with... happiness.

 

With a small smile on his face, Bucky procured himself a chair from the Planes, flopping down between Pietro and Natasha and putting his feet up on the table. Natasha immediately swiped his feet off with a pointed look, and Bucky gave her a smirk as he moved his feet to her lap. She allowed it with an eye roll, but still draped her hands over his chins, lightly tracing over the material of his pants.

 

"Bucky, we had not expected you so soon. Usually you are watching Steven for much longer!" Thor said by way of greeting. Pietro, Natasha, and Bruce's smirks and wiggled eyebrows made Bucky shift, sure that his face would be beet-red if it was able to be. God, he had to get this under control. He himself wasn't even sure how to explain his feelings for his charge, and if his garrison knew about it... there would be no end to the torment.

 

Waving a hand, not really having to feign annoyance, Bucky replied, “Well, he just threw himself onto a fake grenade in a fairly ridiculous show of heroism, so I kind of needed to clear my head."

 

Natasha snorted. "How disgustingly Steve." Bruce chuckled in agreement.

 

"Seriously- that man is going to give me a heart attack, and I don't even have a real heart!" Bucky cried, throwing his hands up in the air. "I didn't want him to go into the army, and now I have to make sure every day that no one shoots him. I hate it." His voice had grown unbearably soft and distressed to his ears, so Bucky cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders as he changed the subject. "How are all of your humans doing?"

 

Giving him a knowing look, Natasha rolled her eyes again before saying, "Clint is... Clint. As you know, he left the circus a couple of years ago. Since then he's just been on his own, doing odd jobs and stealing to get by." She wrinkled her nose. "It's not ideal, and I wish I could help more, but he's getting by alright, and earning a name for himself amongst the underground." Bucky didn't miss the fond look in her eyes, nor how a hint of pride suffused through the disdainful words.

 

Bucky grinned at his previous student, ruffling her hair even though he knew how much she hated that. "I'm glad to hear it, Nat. Sounds like he's trying to turn his life around, albeit in a roundabout way." Natasha sneered at him, but she squeezed his leg where they still rested in her lap, and that was proof enough.

 

"My charges are doing magnificently!" Thor boomed, a large smile on his face. "Jane has started at the Culver University, at only sixteen years of age! She is passing with flying colors, as they say, and her intellect knows no bounds." The other Angels couldn't help but smile at Thor's unabashed enthusiasm for his- Bucky had to admit, remarkable- humans. "Darcy, though a few years younger, has already started building her first computer. It is coming along splendidly, and I have no doubt she will finish it within the week."

 

Bruce grinned. "That's amazing, Thor. That's only a few years older than Tony was when he built his first one.”

 

Nodding, Thor continued, "Aye, they are amazing humans. In addition," and now his grin grew, gaining a sharp edge to it, "the other day when a male tried to tell Darcy that women didn't belong in the sciences such as these, my young warrior tased him."

 

Bucky's jaw dropped. "Darcy tased someone? Where did she even get a Taser?" Pietro asked, sounding aghast.

 

"Her father gave it to her, as she walks by herself over to the high school every day. This is the first time she has used it, but I doubt that it shall be the last."

 

Natasha's face was blank, but an amused spark shone in her eyes. "Good girl." Bucky couldn't help but chuckle- the girl would be a handful, and Thor was obviously delighted by her feistiness.

 

Bruce shrugged and gave a small grin as every pair of eyes turned to him. "Well, Tony is just doing the usual... staying up too late in his workshop, hosting parties and galas for no reason, throwing money around to solve both his and others' problems... so it could be a lot worse." The gathered Seraphs chuckled, enormously glad that Tony had mostly bounced back from his ordeal a few years ago. "He's in the middle of a new invention, something to harness the energy from his arc reactor to also purify the water in the nearby area." Bruce shook his head, looking fond and exasperated. "He's so sure that he's this close to a breakthrough, which means I've been having to make him sleep recently."

 

"Well, he's a genius. If anyone can do it, it's Tony," Bucky assured Bruce. Pietro and Thor nodded their assent, no one at all worried for Tony, especially if he had Bruce keeping tabs on him. "And what about you, Pietro? How's the little sis?"

 

Pietro grinned, the young Seraph already bouncing back from his Punishment. "She is well. She has decided to start attending college in America in the fall, to study Philosophy."

 

"That's great, Pietro." Bruce said warmly, reaching over to clasp a hand on the younger Angel's shoulder. Pietro ducked his head, slight embarrassment showing in the light burgundy wisps about his head. Natasha and Thor murmured their congratulations.

 

Bucky peered at his student, looking for anything that would signal unhappiness or upset in Pietro. He had, after all, just been severely punished for trying to reach the sister that he so missed. But the Angel seemed happy enough, chattering to Bruce and Thor about Wanda's decision and applications, and he looked every part the big brother.

 

"You worry too much," Natasha murmured, getting his attention with a light pinch to his shin. "Pietro is fine, he will learn, in time." Bucky shrugged, mouth opened to wave away her concern, but she interrupted him. "And Steve will be fine- I know how much he means to you, but you have to allow him some trust. Respect his decisions."

 

And to that... Bucky had no response. Where to even start? She ‘knew how much he meant’ to Bucky? How much did she know? Bucky didn’t even know for sure himself. And she didn’t know Steve, not really. The idiot would gladly throw himself in harm’s way to protect others, and Bucky couldn’t stand that. But… Natasha was right. Steve _wanted_ to do this, thought he was doing the right thing and serving his country. It wasn’t Bucky’s place to keep him from doing that, no matter how selfishly he wanted to. He had to stop being selfish. Looking back up at Natasha, he nodded, and she returned it, obviously satisfied. Bucky turned his attention back to his group, letting the conversation wash over him with comfort.

 

He would try… he would try, for Steve.

 

To say that the next half a year was harrowing was a huge understatement. Steve excelled at the physical aspects, and demonstrated an incredible mind for tactics and strategy. In every simulation he was the first through the door, and took control effortlessly, figuring out the best way to approach the situation. Steve earned the (sometimes grudging) respect of his peers, and was instantly appointed squadron leader for training. It seemed that there was nothing that could get Steve down, even bad weather and harsh punishments failing to crush his sunny demeanor. It was enough to make Bucky’s Grace flutter every time Steve grinned so brightly at his drill sergeant, half the time earning extra push-ups.

 

Which Bucky did not sit and watch raptly, no he did not.

 

Basically, Steve had turned out to be great at what he did, his success in missions continuing through the fall, enough that superior officers were taking notice of him. Bucky could see (as he always could) the promise in Steve, and the eagerness in the minds of the officers, and it scared the Angel. It scared Bucky that someone could make Steve go into even more danger, because Bucky knew that Steve would do it without question. The Angel would be embarrassed about his original reaction to Steve joining up, except Bucky knew that Steve was still in danger, and it was Bucky’s _job_ to worry about his human.

 

Sure enough, in late November right before the team shipped out to the Middle East, Colonel Phillips called Steve into his office. Steve was unaware of what was going on, though the slight hesitation in his steps showed that he was worried he was in trouble for something he had done. Bucky sent calming vibes towards his human, even though his own Grace was flipping about inside of him. This was it- Steve was going to be promoted, and then he would be _leading_ missions, putting himself literally in front of everyone else. The risk for harm increased exponentially, and Bucky couldn’t completely suppress his urge to beg Steve not to take it.

 

But as he saw the look that passed over Steve’s face- bright like the sun, blinding Bucky with its pure joy- the Angel just _couldn’t_. He had promised himself- and Natasha- that he would respect Steve’s decisions, offer his support instead of looming over him constantly. Biting his lip in despair, Bucky watched and Steve began filling out the paperwork, lemon yellow and aqua wisps twirling around his smiling face. Bucky’s Grace shuddered at that, the pleasure at seeing Steve so happy warring with the desperation that came from wanting to protect his charge from himself.

 

“Congrats, Stevie,” Bucky whispered to himself, invisible between the Planes, as always. “Please don’t get hurt. That’s all I ask. I can’t lose you, not yet.”

 

* * *

 

2005- March

 

As the year turned into the next, Bucky saw with chagrin that Steve was doing extremely well as a leader. While the Angel still despised the thought that Steve was even more in harm’s way now, Bucky couldn’t help but admire the way Steve seemed to effortlessly gain loyalty from and give orders to his men, and the way he was implicitly trusted and respected. It was a welcome change from the isolated, somewhat lonely Steve that had been living in Brooklyn, and Bucky was glad that Steve could finally show the world what he was made of. Of course, Bucky had known all of this since the very beginning, but humans were awfully dull sometimes.

 

 _‘Of course, you_ are _blinded by love now, Bucky, so what makes your judgement any better?’_ Bucky gave a vicious shove to those thoughts, refusing to acknowledge what they meant.

 

Steve’s squad, nicknamed the Howling Commandos, was now on its way to infamy, with one of the highest successful mission counts in the Army. There was an easy brotherhood between the men, one that went past the surface attachment of being teammates, and it was obvious in the way they worked seamlessly with each other, whether it was storming a base out in the middle of the desert or being each other’s wingmen in bars. Bucky had been able to relax, somewhat, once he saw what good men Steve had watching his back. Not completely, of course- Bucky had been teased many times for being such a ‘mother hen’ towards Steve. Well, if the rest of his garrison had seen some of the things Steve got himself in to, they would understand completely….

 

Bucky’s thoughts were derailed by a commotion below, and he floated closer to the small group. They were currently waiting for the second half of the mission team to return from the last building in the terrorist’s compound. It was supposed to be empty, leaving it an easy sweep and clear mission before being sent back to their own Army base. However, as Bucky focused his attention on the building barely visible on the horizon- the source of the argument, as the team had not yet returned or radioed in- he cursed viciously aloud.

 

"Guys, I don't know about this. Maybe we should go in and see if they need help." If Bucky had corporeal hands, he would be strangling Steve this very second. The mission was going to absolute shit, but of course only he knew that. Only Bucky knew that the rest of their squadron was not, in fact, clearing out the building, but had been ambushed and taken as hostages. The entire house was ready to blow at the sight of another Army member coming in after their teammates, but Steve only thought that they were taking a while to scan through the rooms and labs. Steve wanted to go in to help, but he would only be walking straight into the trap laid for him.

 

And as Bucky was watching from another Plane, he saw what would happen, could imagine it as well as if it were playing out before him that minute. Steve would wonder where the rest of the platoon was, after sixty or so more seconds without contact. He would go in himself- not because he couldn't trust his other squad members, but because he took each and every man on as his own personal responsibility- and try to find them, fix the situation. But he would be going into an ambush, where there was only a small chance of getting himself and the rest of the hostages out alive. Steve would go in to help his friends, stubborn and headstrong until the end, and get himself blown apart for his trouble. Bucky couldn't let him do that, he couldn’t.

 

Bucky had promised himself, long ago, that he wouldn't ever try to invade the mind of one of his charges. Sure, it was allowed within the rules (which showed you just how fucked up Heaven’s rules were), but to Bucky... it was a violation. An invasion of the most private place a person had. He refused to do it to his charges, and refrained from using it on most other humans as well. It was a fact that he prided himself on, and he had been especially loathe to inflict it on Steve, as the guy had a heart of gold and didn't need someone else making decisions for him. But, considering Bucky was running low on options here, it was with an ugly sinking feeling in his Grace that he realized that it was the only thing he could do to keep Steve alive.

 

So, for the first time in Steve's life, Bucky bent all of his will onto Steve, silently apologizing for taking away his free will. Using all of the Grace at his disposal, Bucky screamed out only one thought in his mind: _STAY OUT HERE. DO NOT GO IN_. It was a desperate, wild plea, Bucky resorting to controlling Steve in sheer panic. He kept pushing and pushing the thought at Steve, and though Bucky could feel Steve's mind instinctually shoving back, the human was unprepared for the onslaught. Bucky saw Steve jerk in his steps, freezing in his motion to take a step in the direction of the building into which his team had disappeared. A heavy frown sat on Steve's face, and you didn't have to have the ability to see auras to know how confused and scared Steve was currently.

 

After a moment, Steve said, "Never mind. We should just go wait for them," turned away from the building, brow still furrowed, and followed the rest of his squadron back to the rendezvous point. Bucky followed along, the guilt and dread that was creeping through his system sickening. It was one thing to give Steve encouraging thoughts or gently guide him in the right direction; it was a whole different thing to go into his mind and override his own thoughts. Bucky hated himself for doing that, hated how dirty and slimy it made him feel. He felt no better than the cruel monsters who Punished Angels like him, those who took good memories and warped others’ thoughts. Bucky knew that Steve would have died otherwise, but someone as kind and bright as Steve- who only wanted to help- shouldn't be taken advantage of like that.

 

Surprisingly, the ground-shaking explosion sounding behind them (it would have been an enormous 'I told you so' in any other situation) didn't make Bucky feel any better about his decision. Steve and his squad members whipped around, mouths gaping and eyes wide. Steve recovered the quickest, barking into his walkie-talkie about extraction points and helicopter surveillance. But Bucky could see the raw grief and anger in the violent red, dark yellow, dark blue, and black that swirled around him in an ugly cloud. Of course, as their backup reported a few moments later, there was nothing of their teammates to find- the impressive bomb had seen to that. Steve, so young yet so incredibly world-weary, looked away, jaw clenched so tight he was in danger of cracking a tooth (or several).

 

"Rogers, it's not your fault. We couldn't have known," Steve's second in command Jones said, gently laying a hand onto Steve's shoulder. The rest of the Commandos nodded, grouped in a rough semi-circle around their two officers.

 

Steve looked at them, expressive face clearly showing the anger and grief that Steve otherwise wouldn’t express. Jones brought him in for a hug, both men taking comfort in the friends that they had left. Steve allowed himself exactly four seconds of ‘weakness’, as he thought of it, before he pulled away, quietly sniffing once. He clapped Jones on the shoulder before turning to the rest of the team. “I’m sorry, guys. I let you down. I let _them_ down. I should have been more careful, should have considered all of the possibilities….”

 

And _oh_ , this was bad. Steve was completely shouldering the blame for this mess. All of it. Bucky fisted a hand in his hair, feeling like the lowest of the low. He wouldn’t change what he did, not a thing- Steve was still alive because of Bucky’s intervention. But now Steve was suffering, enormously, both at the personal loss of his friends and the wracking guilt that came with their deaths. It was tearing Steve apart on the inside, but externally he went back to the firm, decisive, and strong leader his squad needed. His aura looked like a hurricane full of mud, every negative emotion swirling together into a vortex of self-loathing and guilt that only Steve could make.

 

But Bucky was practically shaking at how close he had come to losing Steve, _his_ Steve, and he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it. It didn’t matter what he felt for Steve- whether it truly _was_ love, or some ridiculous Angelic bond- but Steve couldn’t die. Not yet. He had so much to give to the world, so much he could do. Bucky couldn’t be selfish, not like this. It was just another reason that he had put Betty’s conversation aside, throwing his focus instead into looking after Pietro and Steve.

 

Bucky watched silently as the team regrouped and went to meet the evac team, every man somber and lost in his own thoughts. The ride back to base was tense and quiet, and the Commandos split apart with wordless agreement, each soldier needing time on his own to process the day’s events. They responded to questions mechanically, avoiding contact with others as much as possible. Steve would have to make a mission report, and tell his superior Phillips what had happened, but hopefully the colonel would let the men rest and grieve for a bit first. Bucky would hold back Phillips himself if it meant giving Steve more time.

 

As Steve entered his personal bunk, he stripped out of his mission clothes, face blank and movements methodical. He cleanly put everything away, showered, and dressed in clean bed clothes. Bucky grew increasingly worried- Steve’s tendency to bottle up and shove down every strong emotion he felt was far from healthy, and the explosion would just be that much worse. Steve tossed and turned all night, unable to find sleep for more than an hour at a time, either nightmares or guilt filling his mind and keeping him awake. Bucky sent small sparks of Grace to calm his mind, but nothing seemed to work, and Bucky was loath to get any closer to Steve’s mind for a long time. So Steve tossed and turned all night, wearily sitting up once the sun slanted in through the windows, looking older than he ever had before.

 

* * *

 

2005- April

 

The Howling Commandos were all in their bunks when the news came. Morita, Dernier, and Falsworth were engaged in some card game, arguments breaking out every few minutes from accusations of cheating and stealing. Dugan was whittling at a stick with his pocket knife, not seeming to have a design in mind. Jones was shuffling his own pack of cards, getting ready for another game of Solitaire. But Bucky’s attention was on Steve, and only Steve. He was sitting near the doorway, and the sun slanted in through the opening and made his hair shine like spun gold. His eyes, flicking up to his teammates before him and back down to the paper he was sketching on, seemed to glow in the light.

 

Steve had come to terms with the responsibilities and pitfalls of leading his men, and therefore was a better lieutenant than ever. There hadn’t been another incident like the one in January, thankfully, but Steve was slowly but surely learning to let things go. His men would follow him anywhere, even to the gates of Hell, and Bucky couldn’t blame them, not in the slightest. Bucky would do the same. The Angel found himself drifting, watching dust motes in the light swirl around Steve’s head, his blonde eyelashes almost brushing his cheeks when he looked down at the paper….

 

The peaceful atmosphere was destroyed when a runner came into the bunk, breathing heavily. “Lieutenant Rogers! We’ve found Schmidt, we know where he’s hiding. We’re going to storm the base.” Steve immediately jumped to his feet, followed by the rest of the Commandos, and gave a sharp nod, excited energy radiating off of him. Bucky couldn’t help but feel his Grace stirring at the sight, rushing heatedly through him at the strength and agitation coming from his charge. The feeling was unusual, and very unhelpful, as now more than ever Bucky needed to focus on protecting Steve. This was _it_ , the big day, the mission they had been waiting to complete for months now. If they succeeded, Hydra would lose its leader, and (presumably) fall apart completely. Then, the Commandos would be offered leave, as the Special Ops team wouldn’t be needed again right away. Steve could go _home,_ and be safe once again.

 

The team quickly got dressed and armored up, the energy in the room almost tangible, their auras clashing together in bright hues of yellow and aqua. There was a reason they had been named the _Howling_ Commandos- this group of men was wild, almost insane with energy and guts, and they did whatever it took to get the job done (mostly stemming from Steve’s absolute stubbornness). If any group of men could take down Hydra’s head, it would be them; Bucky almost glowed with proximal pride as the team piled into the helicopter. The six of them were the only ones going directly into the compound in this stealth mission, with other teams hanging back to catch stragglers and offer back up if needed. The whole base was abuzz with activity as the helicopter flew off, everyone eagerly awaiting news around the radios.

 

Landing a good two miles away from the base, the Commandos hiked the rest of the way, dressed in their sand stealth gear. The other teams would be a mile out in the opposite directions, ready to fly in on jeeps should the need arise. Jones and Dugan picked off the guards outside Schimdt’s compound, as Dernier hurried forward to figure out how to open the door (hopefully no explosives would be needed). Bucky sent a little trill of Grace over, the mechanisms in the door turning over helpfully as Dernier tried to pick the lock. Waving over his shoulder, Steve, Morita, Dugan, and Jones piled in the door. Dernier and Falsworth stayed behind to guard the door, and to shoot anyone who seemed like they would disrupt the mission.

 

Bucky vibrated with tension as the four men crept through the base, Morita using his silenced gun to pick off people that appeared from doorways and around corners. Steve led the small group, halting every so often to listen. The base seemed to be incredibly low tech for being the hub of an international terrorist organization, Bucky only having to short out a few security cameras along the way. Soon enough, they reached what seemed like the largest room, humming computers and low discussions audible through the metal door. Using his fingers to gesture and count, on the count of three Steve kicked the door open and the Commandos flew in, guns blazing, whooping. The Hydra agents didn’t stand a chance, and the room was empty in moments, the notorious head Johann nowhere to be seen. There were scattered cheers and more whoops from the group, congratulating each other and trash talking the various agents on the ground. The adrenaline was pumping in the room, and their morale and mood were soaring along with the shining colors of their auras.

 

Though he grinned at their antics, Steve cleared his throat, ordering, “Jones, Morita, start emptying the computers, get all the information you can. Dugan, guard the door. I’m going to go find Schmidt.” The Commandos nodded, going to their respective duties as Steve crept further into the room. He spotted a door in the corner, and as he opened it to reveal a staircase going down, Bucky felt a pang of despair so strong his feathers rippled in shock. Something bad was down there, he just knew it, and Steve couldn’t-

 

But Steve was already charging down the steps, and Bucky cursed in every language he knew (which meant all of them) as he followed the blond. Steve knew just as well as Bucky that this room had to be important, to be hidden out of sight in the middle of the already-hidden base, but unlike Bucky would have done, Steve didn’t take any precautions before throwing himself down the stairs. The somber and winding staircase seemed to go on forever, before it opened up into another room. The wide, metal encased space was filled with computers, screens, blinking lights… and bombs.

 

Steve had originally froze at the sight of the room, before shaking his head and going over to some of the largest screens. Looking over Steve’s shoulder, Bucky whimpered, seeing what was making Steve tense up so much more: a map of secret Hydra bases, scattered throughout the world in major cities, more than likely filled with just as many- if not more- explosives than this one. Johann Schmidt was nowhere to be seen, which was clue enough to Bucky that this base, in the middle of nowhere as it was, was still going to explode, along with all of the other ones around the world. A countdown clock displayed off to the right read 00:00:5:37, the detonations set to explode with the Commandos inside, most likely the result of a mole in the Army. Bucky absorbed all of this at once, mind whirling with shock and fury, but at this point, it didn’t truly matter.

 

Gritting his teeth, Steve took all this in at the same time as Bucky, and Bucky recognized the determined set of his jaw, the same one he always had as a scrawny twelve year old right before he got his teeth knocked in. Bucky cursed furiously to himself as Steve set himself at the control panels, frantically scanning the blinking lights and buttons. It was obvious that the soldier was determined to disarm all of the bombs, all over the world, all by himself. Steve was smart (he _had_ just worked out what had happened here), but he was no bomb squad member, and he most likely had no idea how to work all of this aged technology.

 

“Morita, Jones, get out of here. Grab Dugan and leave the base, take Falsworth and Dernier and get a safe distance away.” Various protests and questions flew back at Steve through the comm, and Steve hissed, clenching his fist. His aura was roiling, red and dark blue and brown. “I’ll be out after you,” he lied, closing his eyes. “Just get out of the base, I’ll meet you back outside in a few minutes.” There were more mumbled dissents and grumbles from the rest of the team, but they followed their commander’s orders. Steve let out a breath, steeling himself before setting at the controls.

 

Bucky’s first and only all-consuming plan was to simply grab Steve and bolt out of there, fuck the bombs. But as soon as the thought formed in his mind, he could feel the strings of Fate almost strangling Steve with their immobility. This event could not be prevented, could not be changed, could not alter the course of the future. This was the reason Steve had been born, why he had lived the life he had- he had been created to stop this event, and Bucky was powerless to stop this.

 

 _‘So_ this _is why Steve is so important… he saves the world.’_

 

The unfairness of it all choked Bucky, an indescribable mix of rage and guilt and grief welling up inside of the Angel, and Bucky had never hated being a Guardian so much. In the million or so years he had been alive, he had never cared for- never _loved_ \- a human this much, and now Steve was being taken away from him, too early, too fast. Bucky couldn’t let that happen, he _wouldn’t._ The world wasn’t worth this, it didn’t deserve Steve, and Steve certainly didn’t deserve to go out like this. The thought of leaving Steve to his fate made Bucky want to claw his own wings off, and the Seraph’s Grace was angrily jolting and hissing, not having time to sort through the barrage of emotions.

Taking a fortifying breath, and doing what he did best- making an _awful_ decision in the name of good- Bucky gathered his projection about him, his usual black clothing and styled hair appearing out of thin air in the bunker. Steve jumped, hand flying to his gun, fear and bewilderment clear on his face. As Steve took in Bucky’s face, his eyes widened, lips parting at the- well, _angelic_ \- sight before him. This was the first, and probably last, time Bucky had ever shown himself to a (live) human, but there was no time for semantics.

 

Bucky had broken the cardinal rule of Heaven, the one that mattered the most: don’t let yourself be seen. _Ever_. He knew that he only had a minute, maybe even only seconds, before Pierce and Rumlow would be on him like rabid dogs, dragging him away, surely for the last time; Bucky couldn’t worm his way out of this one. But if he could save Steve, then he would sacrifice his wings in a heartbeat, tear them off himself. His own fate seemed to pale in comparison to Steve’s; if this was his only chance, Bucky had to take it, no matter what would happen to him.

 

“Steve, please, you have to leave!” Bucky shouted, arms out, seeing his Grace reflected on Steve’s skin. He hadn’t bothered with a strong projection, just enough so that Steve could physically see him. His wings were most likely out and visible, and Bucky had no doubt that he looked truly like the avenging Angel he was trying to be.

 

Steve’s whole jaw dropped, shock and awe now playing on his features. “Who… _what_ are you? How did you get in here?” Spots of lime green and burnt orange bled through his dark aura. He had paused in his work, the numbers still ticking down, and Bucky whimpered, fear for Steve and fear of his Punishment whipping through him. Fear like Bucky had never felt before coursed through him, his feelings for Steve rearing their head as the human sped, inexorably, towards a terrible end.

 

Bucky shook his head, making an aborted arm movement. There was no time to explain. “I… I’m your Guardian Angel, okay? But that’s not important right now. You _need to get out!_ ”

 

The human frowned, before squaring up his shoulders and taking it all in stride. “If you are… my Angel, then you know I can’t do that. I’m almost finished disarming this bomb network- I can’t just leave people to die.” He went back to the control panel, jaw set once more.

 

Bucky could have screamed. “But you’ll die! _This_ building is going to blow, no matter what.” Schmidt wouldn’t risk leaving all of his notes and technology in the Army’s hands. this base’s explosives were on a completely different network that would explode separately from the ones around the world. Steve wouldn’t have time to diffuse this second component, and Bucky _wasn’t allowed to._ The frustration was a physical thing, a clawing and shrieking creature in Bucky’s throat that threatened to rip and tear and scream.

 

This time Steve didn’t look up. “If I can save all these people, then it’s worth it.” With a sinking- no, a _crashing-_ feeling in his Grace, Bucky knew he couldn’t change Steve’s mind, even if Fate would allow it. Short of taking over his mind again- which Bucky knew he could never do again- or physically picking Steve up- which Bucky knew he didn’t have the ability for- there would have been no way for Steve to get out of here in time. A low moan of despair escaped Bucky’s mouth, and Steve’s hand twitched, even as he disabled the second to last bomb.

 

The Angel swallowed, steeling himself. He had failed, but he wouldn’t let Steve go alone. This was his penance, for failing his human when it counted. For failing the man he had, somehow, against all odds, come to love. “You’re too good for us, Stevie. You’ve got the purest soul I’ve ever seen, you gotta know, and I-”

 

Bucky could feel the exact moment that the Punishment division took notice, his words cut off with a choke, and if Bucky had thought that the creeping chill of his previous ‘arrests’ was horrible, it was nothing compared to the ice cold fire currently screaming along his Grace. It was unlike anything Bucky had ever before experienced, and the anguish was enough to almost make him lose his grasp on this reality, and he had to fight to keep himself visible and solid for Steve.

 

“Steve, just- just take care of yourself, yeah?” Bucky gasped out, his impending Punishment and Steve’s impending death combining in some horrible, unreal maelstrom. Steve looked up at Bucky’s hurried, miserable words, brow furrowing in confusion and concern, the final Hydra base bomb stationed across the world going offline. “You’re the best of us all; I’m sorry I failed you, couldn’t help when it counted the most. You have to promise me that you’ll stay safe. I lo-”

 

The last thing Bucky could do before a hand grasped hold of his wings was send a spark of Grace to stay with Steve, in the hopes that it could protect him when Bucky could not.

 

The last thing Bucky saw was Steve’s face, confusion and fear written in every pore, and Steve’s hand, reaching out towards Bucky as the timer in the bunker clicked to zero.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve’s team, once they heard the explosion in the bunker which shook the very ground they stood on, immediately broke their posts and ran into the control room. Through the smoke and debris, through coughs and splutters and streaming eyes, the Commandos spent the better part of half an hour waiting for evac as they searched for their commanding officer. Eventually they found him, over by the computer, arm still outstretched, half covered by pieces of mangled metal and stone. He was bleeding profusely from a head wound, legs crushed and possibly broken under larger pieces of concrete, every part of uncovered skin burned and blistered, an awful gurgling sound in his most-likely-perforated left lung- but he was alive.

 

Somehow, Steve had survived a point blank explosion. It was a mystery to his team.

 

He was raced to the Army base, to be stabilized in their medical center before he was able to be air lifted to a real hospital, his wounds too serious to be treated in the middle of the desert. The Commandos, worried for their friend, but glad that he was alive and glad that the mission was a success (for Schmidt had been found a few miles out, escaping his exploding base). They were all tired, but ready to head home, where Steve would be stationed in a nearby hospital, under 24/7 care of the best doctors and nurses Phillips could find. He was alright, his body would heal, but he wasn’t waking up. The doctors declared him in a healing coma, with an unspecified span, but said that he would eventually wake up. It was just a matter of time.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky was not seen again in Heaven. For days and weeks, Angels reported hearing screams such as they had never heard ringing from the Punishment division, flashes of light and the ozone-scented tang of spilt Grace rolling out impossibly far from the building. ‘ _Then one day it just… stopped_ ,’ they would say, shrugging. ‘ _Whoever it was finally was released, must have been a dirty deed to warrant that much Punishment.’_

 

That night, a meteor crashed down into Earth, puzzling scientists with its size, strange light, and unpredictable course.

 

* * *

 

 

For the duration of Bucky’s absence and Steve’s coma, life went on, in some ironic twist of fate. The man who saved the world from decimation- now just an empty husk, as if he had been the one decimated; simply burned out of his body, leaving a shell behind. Those who did visit never stayed long- the sight was too horrible, they said, it was like Steve had never been there at all. Eventually, over the course of the next few months, the already small number of visitors had dwindled down to none, and what remained of Steve’s body- for everyone could agree that his spirit had fled- stayed in the military hospital’s lower level, on life support, none daring to pull the plug, all hoping someone else might.

 

It seemed a terrible tragedy to leave him like this.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this chapter contains explicit torture and a mention of rape. Please read at your own discretion; the section ends after the first line break, or at the words "2005- June".

_My memories of you are precious,_

_and that, my love, is why I surrendered them:_

_they_ _have no_ _part in the filth that my life has become._

_Oblivion is a simple sort of pain._

_And though your voice rings,_

_sweet as church bells in my mind,_

_I must relinquish all that you are to me._

_My memories only tear me to shreds._

 

2005- May

_Pain pain pain cold burning burning rough pain ow please stop please stop please stop PLEA-_

Bucky let another scream loose as Rumlow- wearing a vindictive and predatory grin- shoved the poker, white hot with Grace, deep into his left wing again. That made ten- or was it thirteen? nine? God, he had lost count- holes in his wings, the fact that they were caused by Grace meaning that they would take weeks to heal properly. Some rods had been left still in him, others had been taken out to allow for Grace to make its sluggish way to the floor, looking shiny and wrong outside of an Angel. The wings themselves had been pinned up with large blades to the wall behind Bucky ( _‘Like I’m a beautiful butterfly….’_ Bucky had thought deliriously at one point), to keep them anchored in place and open for his torturer’s attention.

 

Today’s torment of choice was impalement, and a lot of it. Not very inventive, but effective, and as much as Bucky had promised himself that he wouldn’t scream, it hadn’t lasted much past the first six hours of the first day. For as much as experience as Bucky had in Punishment, he had done the unthinkable this time, and so was greeted with torture the likes and duration of which he had never even heard of. Bucky had been put on the rack, stretched until he could feel his very Grace ripping apart, until his wings were popping out of their attachment, until he was shrieking and sobbing and Rumlow was laughing and grinning like the cat that got the canary. Bucky had been slowly and lovingly carved apart, Grace leaking out of his body in careful designs. Rumlow had used Bucky for his own pleasure, sweet words and gentle touches ( _but how nice a respite they were_ ) belying the violence with which he shoved into and engulfed Bucky’s form. He had violated Bucky over and over, the sick pleasure Rumlow found in it psychological rather than physical, the sick aqua blue and hot pink of his aura engulfing Bucky. It was unending violence, designed to break even the strongest Angel, to Punish and teach a lesson.

 

Because even though Angels were little more than celestial energy and light, encased and wrapped with Grace and made visible by their own power, all of that didn’t matter in the face of other Angels. _Anything_ imbibed with Heaven’s powers or with Grace could do harm to an Angel, especially wielded by more powerful Angels, and _especially_ when the Angels were sick beings who had too much experience torturing others. Such as Rumlow. Bucky had gone to Punishment for Steve before, but it had never been like this. Bucky had been to Punishment _innumerable_ times, but he had _never_ been this utterly defeated.

 

The sense that it was worth it was slowly being taken over by the fact that Steve was most likely dead anyway, and Bucky was going through this for nothing. It was all Bucky could do to hang onto his pleasant memories of Steve, to cling on to them with all the fading strength he had left.

 

Reaching down to his side almost carelessly, Rumlow picked up a large rod, almost looking like a pipe. “Now, where should this one go?” he asked, a false innocence flickering grossly over his features like black oil on water. Bucky was too far gone to answer, the loss of so much Grace making him feel so weak that he couldn’t talk ( _but Angels couldn’t become unconscious no they weren’t granted that luxury they were made to be functional at all hours in all conditions and wasn’t that just great_ ). He merely slumped on the floor, feeling the throbbing stretch in his back where his wings were wrenched up and out of the way, panting, the ozone taste and scent of Grace burning his mouth and nose.

 

“No preference?” Rumlow asked, stepping closer. Now Bucky could see that it was sharpened on one end, and hollow, as if for draining something. Or someone. Bucky moaned in fear, long since given up on pretending to be strong, accepting that he was _worthless_ and _scum_ and _dirty_ and all the other vitriol that had been spewed at him for… what… weeks? months? Jesus, how long had it been since he’d saved Steve? If Bucky had even saved him….

 

The sharp end of the pipe came up to lightly scrape against Bucky’s cheekbone, and he gasped, screwing his eyes shut and jerking his head away, gasping again as it jostled his screaming shoulders. “Well, then, dealer’s choice,” Rumlow stated, before- quicker than thought- he lunged forward and shoving the rod deep into- _through_ \- Bucky’s abdomen, with so much force that it buried into the wall behind them, now pinning Bucky’s entire body upright against the wall.

 

The scream that left Bucky’s throat made the light flicker, the true voice of an Angel- only heard as a dreadful, thundering, dog whistle-like pitch to humans- tearing through his Grace, making stone crack and glass break. Rumlow chuckled before letting out a low whistle. “Didn’t know you still had that kinda music in you, Bucky.” Bucky let out a choking, ugly cough, Grace now coming up out of his mouth. He panted, whimpering every time the rod jostled inside of his body, feeling like he was being burned from the inside out from the foreign Grace in his system. _Rumlow’s_ Grace. “Just say the word, Bucky. Say the word, and we can be done for the day.” Rumlow crouched down next to Bucky, his face looking every bit the benevolent jailer.

 

Bucky swallowed, a small _gah_ escaping him as he shuddered. Sobbing, begging, pleading- everything he had once thought he was too strong and proud to do- had become his only escape from the torment, his only possible respite. “P-p-please,” he whispered, voice broken and shredded from screaming and disuse. His head hung down to his chest, thoughts sluggish with nothing but residual screams of torment.

 

Sitting back on his heels, Rumlow smirked widely. Bucky was slowly being driven to do nothing but obey, to sit back and take his Punishment, giving up only when prompted. He had long ago lost his voice to do it any other time, since it would almost always result in even more agony. Reaching out, Rumlow traced a finger down Bucky’s cheek to cup his jaw, eliciting another shudder from the bound Angel ( _please get away but don’t leave me alone touch me gently give me love-_ )

 

Bucky was barely moving, unable to do anything besides sob weakly and twitch his ravaged limbs. Bending down and running a hand over Bucky’s hair, Rumlow muttered, “That’s it for today,” as he yanked the rod out of Bucky’s torso. A hoarse shout was all that Bucky could give, his weight pulling fully on his wrenched wings again. Rumlow set about removing the rest of the blades from Bucky’s wings, leaving him crumpled on the floor.

 

It was finally the end of the session- it had been hours, days, a week, Bucky could never tell- and Rumlow grabbed Bucky by the closest limb, dragging him off to his cell. The cell was pure white, blindingly so, made even brighter by the spilled Grace that Bucky left on the floor every night. The room was completely silent, not a whisper to be heard, so that every rustle Bucky made with his wings was deafening. After the sound of his own screams for so long, the complete silence was enough to drive him to whimper and curl up, pressing his hands against his ears as if the silence was something that could be blocked out. No one spoke to him, no one touched him without torturing him, and Bucky saw no one except Rumlow, and occasionally Pierce.

 

His Punishment had no end in sight, and to be honest he much preferred the days of torture and harm to the nights of isolation. For in isolation, Bucky was cut off from the Host, shaking and shivering in a glaringly white room ( _pure white virgin white unscathed as far as can be from Bucky’s twisted and blackened Grace white almost as bright as Stevie’s soul God was Steve even alive was he okay)_ with only his thoughts as company, which became more fractured and disjointed every day. He hadn’t been alone, parted from the comforting hum of Heaven’s host, since the day he was created.

 

The silence was deafening.

 

So there he sat, a truly broken Angel, curled in the corner of his cell, injuries leaking Grace everywhere he went. Bucky didn’t know how long he had been in Punishment- he had lost count after day eight-and was stuck with only himself, the thoughts of his agony, and the memories of his failure; that last look upon Steve’s face. But even that was growing dim, the bright memory losing its vivacity and feathering away at the edges, like an old photograph. Bucky could have sobbed all over again, if he had the energy to. He was _losing_ Steve, his good memories of him, his love for him- the anguish was overtaking everything else, becoming central to his life and forcing all else out.

 

It seemed that this was part of the torture, as well, erasing anything the Angel actually had to hold on to, allowing the Punishment to take over.

 

An eternity later, or simply one night- a time span both too long and too short- Rumlow came to retrieve Bucky. The Seraph was given just enough time to stop the sluggish flow of Grace from his form, for his wounds to start to heal, but was never allowed to heal fully before they began again. They returned to his torturing cell, where Bucky was left sprawled in a corner as Rumlow gathered his tools. Bucky tiredly closed his eyes, letting the frigid stone floor attempt to ease the aches and fire that settled into his entire being. _‘Stevie….’_ The disjointed thought was all that came through his mind, the thought of his blonde-haired charge not soothing him as much as it once did.

 

Rumlow returned, dragging Bucky upright by his hole-peppered wings, prompting a weak moan from the Seraph. “We’ve got something epical planned for you today, Bucky,” he murmured, hand carding through Bucky’s hair in a parody of softness. Bucky could only swallow, screwing up his eyes as the childish urge to put his arms over his head rose. He knew it wouldn’t help, nothing could stop his Punishment, but he still felt he needed the security of wrapping himself up and never letting go.

 

“First, a little treat, courtesy of Pierce himself.” Rumlow backed away, going over to his table, and returning with a swagger in his step. “Wants you to remember who you are, what you’ve done, and why we can’t allow it.” As Rumlow fell to his knees next to Bucky, he held out the item in his hands, and Bucky couldn’t help his morbid curiosity (and growing horror) as he examined it. It was a long and thin metal rod, with a handle at one end, and at the other end… a flat metal plate, cut into the upside down triangle symbol of Lucifer. As usual, the bright colors of Rumlow’s auras showcased just how much he was enjoying this sick show.

 

Bucky immediately closed his eyes again, twisting away from the awful sight. It was a brand, with the symbol of the world’s biggest evil, and _Rumlow was going to burn it into his body_. Not only would it hurt- brands heated with Grace never faded, even on an Angel- but it was a mark of _shame_ , of _evil_. Bucky was no better than Lucifer at this point, he was lower than the low, and this was just another level of humiliation that Pierce had come up with. Bucky’s lungs sped up to breathe harshly, air he didn’t really need, and he could feel his Grace weakly thrashing and trying to get away from the brand. Bucky was far too weak to shield his aura or thoughts anymore, so he could clearly see dark yellow, pale and lime greens, brown, and black swimming sickeningly around him.

 

“Aw, don’t be like that sweetheart. It’ll be over before you know hit.” Rumlow smirked at him, already holding his hand out towards the brand and slowly heating it up, white making the dark metal shine bright enough to hurt Bucky’s eyes. If Bucky could cry, tears would be running down his cheeks, but he just shook his head and bit his lip, curling against the wall to get as far away from Rumlow as he could. Rumlow clucked his tongue, reaching out to grip Bucky’s left arm, the pressure making Bucky cry out as he squeezed bruised and weakened flesh “Now, don’t move, I don’t want it to smear.”

 

Bucky couldn’t help but twitch and fidget, subconsciously trying to get away from Rumlow, as the white hot brand crept closer and closer to the flesh on his arm. A low whine escaped through his grit teeth, and it grew into a hoarse scream as metal met skin, the horrid design immediately burning itself deep into Bucky, sending his Grace fleeing deeper inside to escape. Rumlow held it against Bucky for far longer than was necessary, purely for the arduous gasps and small cries that Bucky let out. When he removed it, Bucky saw pieces of himself come with it, and he looked away, swallowing against a phantom nausea.

 

Rumlow grinned, looking down at his work. “There, now doesn’t that look good?” Bucky didn’t have an answer, merely cradling his ravaged arm closer to his body. He avoided looking at the mark, didn’t want to think about what it meant or what might happen to him next. He vaguely heard Rumlow _tsk_ , moving away to get more supplies no doubt, and gently lied down, the cool stone floor offering a semblance of comfort to his form, every part of him aching. Bucky was already drifting, trying to reach a meditative state in an attempt to separate himself from this constant torment. _Anything_ would be preferable to this, he had to… he had to find a way to end it, to kill himself…. He thought briefly of Steve, wondered where Angels go when they die, If Bucky’s Heaven would include him….

 

His hopeful thoughts were interrupted as Rumlow dragged him back upright by his hair. “Getting’ sleepy on me, Bucky? Well, good thing I have a new toy for you to try!” He sounded so cheerful, as if he had honestly gotten Bucky a birthday present. Only, when Rumlow pulled Bucky up and turned him around to see what the newest addition was, Bucky audibly cried out, his knees buckling again.

 

Before him, set against the wall, was a wooden cross.

 

“Oh no, please please no, you can’t- I’m not- this isn’t- _please_. Please you can’t do this please don’t, no, no no no nonono-” Bucky’s increasingly horrified protests were silenced as Rumlow backhanded him across the face, causing him to fall to the ground once more. Bucky cringed on the floor, trying to avoid looking at the wooden monster in front of him.

 

Rumlow knelt down next to Bucky, whispering deceptively gently, “Oh, I can, and I will. Isn’t this so fitting? A disgusting excuse for an Angel, burned with Lucifer’s mark, left to bleed on a crucifix. Poetic, almost.” Bucky trembled, his mind bending a little more with this new method of terror, splintering just that much more. “Come on, the less you struggle the less it will hurt, _trust_ me.” And with that, Rumlow hauled Bucky up against the wood, and Bucky shuddered as soon as he came into contact with it. It was so _wrong_ , so _blasphemous_ , yet this is what he deserved, wasn’t it?

 

Raising his hand, Rumlow summoned four large nails from his table, sending them shooting into Bucky’s hands and feet. The agony was incredible, and Bucky screamed, his entire body shivering with misery and exhaustion. His breath came in sobs and gasps, and every movement his body made just caused the nails to dig into him more. Trembling uncontrollably, his head rolled to look at Rumlow, now a foot beneath him as he stood on the stone floor. Grace ran in rivulets down to the floor, creating small puddles where it gathered.

 

Rumlow simply smiled at Bucky, hand on his chin. “Now this… this is a work of art. I think I’ll leave you here for a while, let this really… soak in.” Bright colors swirled teasingly from Rumlow’s form. And before Bucky could so much as whine at the thought of being left alone once again, Rumlow disappeared from view, flying off God knew where. Bucky let out an involuntary wail, which broke into more harsh gasps and moans as his clenched form pulled at the metal embedded in his body.

 

Falling limp, biting clean through his lip at the drag and pull of the nails in his limbs, Bucky let his head slump to his chest. This was undoubtedly the worst punishment yet… usually he had his isolation to escape the pain, and the pain to escape his thoughts. But now… now he had both, and all he wanted to do was curl in a corner and _die_ , but he was stuck up here like some sick rendition of Jesus and maybe he deserved this but when would it end _when would it end-_

He was left there for hours, or even days- the time passed sluggishly, no way to mark its passage. Bucky whispered to himself, nonsense and memories and false comforts, his body twitching and shuddering every so often as it tried to heal its endless injuries. The dripping of Grace made an incessant background noise, one that was almost enough to drive Bucky insane by itself. The cell was silent but for his occasional moans and murmurs, and it ate away at him, consuming him and his Grace, engulfing his mind and driving itself into his non-existent heart.

 

Bucky yelped as he felt something touch him, jerking so hard that he tore bigger holes in his limbs, causing him to wail. “Shh, it’s alright, we’re almost done. Just… one more thing.” Rumlow stood up, going over to the table at the side of the room, returning with something hidden behind his back. Bucky let his eyes drift closed, brow furrowed and lips bitten to shreds at the white hot agony coursing regularly through his limbs. All he wanted… all he wanted was to be left alone, to be left somewhere to _die_ , to not have to endure this anymore, he would give _anything_ to just go home, to fall asleep for the first (and last) time….

 

Wincing slightly at the feel of something being slathered over his left arm, Bucky re-opened his eyes up to see Rumlow holding a clay pot, spreading a thick and viscous liquid over Bucky’s skin, carefully avoiding the new brand. It took a moment for it to click, for Bucky to realize what that was. When he did, the Seraph immediately squirmed, groaning at the burning in his wings and shoulders and at the horror that coursed through him. “N-no, please, no-”

 

“Shut up!” Rumlow commanded, and Bucky’s jaw clicked shut, his head turned to the sight so he wouldn’t have to look at his ruined self or be reminded of how weak he had become. Once Rumlow had finished making sure every inch of Bucky’s arm was covered in the Holy Oil, he stepped back, observing his work. With a small grin, he snapped his fingers, sending a spark of Grace to ignite the Oil. Immediately the flames raced everywhere along the Oil they could reach, scorching Bucky’s skin, his Grace, his essence. Bucky’s screams hit new registers, the stone closest to him actually crumbling, causing passing Angels to actually cover their own ears in discomfort. And this wasn’t a singular sharp stab of hurt like the rod had been, this was continuous agony, one that shot straight through everything that made up Bucky, burning his very Grace where it rested in his form.

 

After moments that felt like eternities, throwing water carelessly onto Bucky to extinguish the flames, Rumlow walked forward, caressing Bucky’s hip like a prized possession.

 

Once again, the session had come to an end, the shorter duration not signifying any lessening in his terrorizing, Rumlow carelessly unfastening Bucky’s hands and feet from the boards, letting him drop to the floor with another bright scream of anguish.

 

Once again, Bucky was dragged back to his cell, thrown into a world of _white white too bright you don’t belong here_ and left completely, utterly alone.

 

Once again, Bucky curled into himself, hating himself and everything that put him there, and slowly forgetting what it was to love.

 

* * *

 

 

­

2005- June

 

The mood in the break room was somber, as it had been every day for two months. Thor sat in silence, Bruce was off watching Tony to get his mind off of things, and Pietro sat rather glumly in the corner, picking at a candy bar (which he had grown quite fond of). Natasha sighed explosively for the fifth time in an hour, fingernails tapping against the tabletop. “This is getting ridiculous,” she muttered. Thor grunted in response, and Pietro shrugged one shoulder. Natasha’s lip twisted into a scowl, and she stood up. “I’m sick of this. It’s been two whole months. Doesn’t anyone else want to know _where the hell Bucky is_?”

 

At that, Thor glanced up, a small frown on his face. “Do not mistake our silence for apathy. While it is true that we do not know where our sergeant is, I doubt that there is anything that can be done about it. When Heaven rules something… it is not our job to change it.” Pietro simply stared at the other two Angels, nervousness practically radiating off of him.

 

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Well, I don’t accept that. Something foul is going on here, and I intend to find out what…” Her eyes flicked about as she thought of a course of action, unfocusing slightly as she thought. “Even if I have to go straight to the top.” With that, she gave a tight nod to the two others, who looked quite confused, and flew straight to Fury’s office.

 

His office was in a large, glass and steel building, supposed to look strong and intimidating. It didn’t stop Natasha from marching straight in, ignoring the small black haired Angel at a desk in front of his door. “What the _hell_ is going on?” she demanded, pushing right into Fury’s office. The Ruler looked up with a raised eyebrow, his famous eyepatch covering the other. The Ruler wasn’t used to lower Angels ignoring his orders and disrupting him completely, but he couldn’t completely quell his curiosity. So he sat up straighter at his desk, folded his hands before him, and nodded to the chair before him.

 

Natasha stalked forward, ignoring the chair in favor of coming right up to the wooden desk. “I want to know where Bucky is, what’s being done to him, and when he’s coming back.” She glared icily, arms crossed before her.

 

Fury simply raised his eyebrow, seemingly amused rather than irate. “And why should I tell you that?”

 

Natasha sneered, red and orange leaking through her usually carefully controlled aura. "My leader, my teacher, my _friend_ Bucky has been missing for two months. This is longer than any Punishment I've ever seen or heard of, and that's saying something, considering my past." Fury didn't respond, waiting for the red-headed Seraph to finish her rant. "I want to know what happened, and where he is. Now. We deserve to know."

 

Fury stared at her for a moment more, before sighing heavily. "You're right. You all are his garrison, so you have the right to know." Natasha wasn’t mollified yet, waiting expectantly. "He showed himself to his charge, tried to change Fate's design, and we have heard... rumors that he has been indulging in some... inappropriate feelings."

 

Natasha didn't even flinch, valiantly keeping her thoughts and aura under control. "Is that so? How do I know you're even telling the truth?" With how corrupt Heaven had grown even in her timespan of being here, she wasn’t even sure about who she could trust anymore. _Especially_ Angels like Fury who were supposed to be in charge.

 

Snorting, Fury put his hands down the desk. "You're not really in a position to argue with me, Natasha." The two glared knives at each other, before Fury huffed. "Besides, I _am_ telling the truth. I'm sure you've heard the goings-on at Punishment, same as everyone else."

 

Breaking composure for the first time, Natasha let out a quiet breath, looking away from Fury. So the screams, the ones that all the other Seraphs had been gossiping about, those were Bucky.... Natasha avoided going around Punishment nowadays, for obvious reasons, and she was torn between guilt that she hadn't been there for her friend and relief that she hadn't had to listen to him scream.

 

"He really did all that?" she asked, eyes flicking back to Fury.

 

He nodded. "Yes, he broke the number one rule of Heaven, and is being Punished accordingly. After another month or so, he'll Fall."

 

As she shakily inhaled, she closed her eyes, the news breaking through her carefully crafted exterior. "Fall?" she repeated, curling her hands into fists in her sleeve. She couldn’t lose Bucky, she couldn’t, he was the first and best friend she had known in Heaven, and it hurt even more knowing that he had only done what he did for the sole purpose of saving his human. Natasha was selfish enough to admit that she didn’t think that Bucky had made the right choice.

 

Fury's face seemed to soften a bit, looking gently at Natasha. "Yes, it's the only Punishment we deem suitable for this sort of mistake."

 

Natasha nodded hesitantly, thoughts roaring around in her mind. On one hand, Bucky _had_ been incredibly stupid, showing himself to Steve and allowing himself to fall in love with the man. Fury was right- it was probably the only Punishment available to match the severity of the crime. However... Bucky was her friend; she couldn't let him simply be cast down to Earth, helpless and forgotten. Taking a deep breath purely for the psychological effect, she turned to face Fury square once more.

 

"I don't think he deserves this," she defended, knowing that it wouldn’t do much good. But she had to try.

 

Fury chuckled, tilting his head. "And why is that?"

 

Natasha furrowed her brow. "He's a good Angel, one of the best Guardians we've ever had. He's kind, caring, and does his job with maximum effort. Bucky made a mistake, we all do. He didn't mean any harm, and wasn't trying to cause problems. He was trying to save his charge, which is his job. And... and so what if he cares more for Steve than he should? It will only help his work." That last part was a bit of a flaky answer, as she herself could see how compromised Bucky had become with his new feelings. But anything she could tell Fury might help. "He's already undergone two months of Punishment... why not make it four instead of three, make him an example, and then let him return to duty?"

 

Natasha swallowed heavily, guilt coursing through her at the thought of exposing her friend to even more horrors. But if it could save his Grace, keep him in Heaven where he belongs, then it would be worth it. Hopefully.

 

Fury sighed, shaking his head. "You know I have a soft spot for you and your garrison, much as it pains me to admit it. But I can't change the rules or the Punishment, and it's too late anyway, even if I could." He looked up at Natasha, sincerity rising through his voice. "I'm sorry, Natasha, but there's nothing I can do. I'm transferring the control of the garrison to you, now that Barnes is gone." With that, he turned back to his paperwork, clearly dismissing her. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry, like watching out for Loki’s next attack.”

 

Grace sparked from Natasha's fingertips as she dug her nails into her palm. "How can you say that? How can you Punish him so horribly for just doing his job?" Had Heaven truly fallen this far? She had always counted on Fury as an ally, a role model, possibly even a friend. He had never done them wrong before. But this was… this sounded like he was slowly turning into every other uncaring Angel, the ones who just sat by and watched as- or even personally committed- these acts. It hurt her more than she cared to admit.

 

Without looking up, Fury retorted, "Barnes knows the rules, just like you do, just like everyone does. He knew he was forbidden to show his face, he knew Fate wouldn't let him change the event, yet he still did both anyway. I'd say this is the better option- Pierce lobbied to have his wings torn off, but leave him in Heaven."

 

Horror coursed through Natasha, gluing her lips back shut. That was, ultimately, the worst possible fate an Angel could have. Falling was terrible enough: being turned into a human and disconnected from the Heavenly host, with no memories with which to tell them why the silence and loneliness in their head was so awful. But to remove an Angel's wings and leave them among their peers... the ridicule and shame would be enough to drive the Angel to ask to Fall anyway within days.

 

Closing her eyes briefly, gathering her strength back, Natasha simply said, "I won't let this rest, Fury. No matter what."

 

"I know you won't," Fury replied, and Natasha thought that she could hear a smile in his voice. She paused a moment, before nodding sharply. Biting the inside of her cheek, she flew out of his office, determined to go find Clint. Often he was the only one who could calm her in moments such as this. Life went on, so she had to as well. Whatever happened to Bucky, she had to play her cards right, and intervene at the right time. Otherwise, she risked herself, any of the garrison who offered to help, and even Clint.

 

She carefully ignored the writhing, thrashing, _gnawing_ guilt inside of her, the one that screamed at her that she could have helped Bucky avoid all of this. Natasha _knew_ how to get down to Earth unseen, knew which sigils and spells to invoke to shield her and her Grace from any prying eyes. She had _known_ how much Steve meant to Bucky, how much he had adored- no, _loved_ \- his charge. She should have known that Bucky would try something like this eventually, that Bucky would get into trouble eventually. She could have _saved_ Bucky, if only she had been less secretive, less ignorant, less selfish.

 

Natasha would go to Bucky, when the time was right. In the meantime, she had to do what she could, keep an eye out for Bucky once he Fell, and make sure that Steve was doing well.

 

* * *

 

One night, in the middle of August, people all over the world gasped and shouted, pulled out recording devices and called friends, when an unpredicted, brilliantly bright meteor hurtled towards Earth, disappearing just before it struck down somewhere in Northern Russia.

 

* * *

 

2006- January

 

Natasha watched with trepidation as Clint scaled the building, nearly invisible (to humans) it the pitch black of the night. He was good, probably one of the best at what he did. But he was currently climbing _Stark Tower_ , the most technologically advanced building in the world. There was no way he wouldn’t get caught, and though Natasha had tried to warn Clint against it, the archer-turned-thief had stoutly refused any doubts or worries she had sent creeping through his head. She hadn’t expected any less from the headstrong and careless man, though.

 

It was one of the reasons she loved him so much.

 

She smiled fondly as he crept stealthily up the building, avoiding the largest windows and sure-footed even on the slick metal. A grappling arrow- one of his own design- had been enough to secure his position, and the archer wasn’t even looking for anything in particular, just seeing which floor he popped in on and what was in there to steal. For surely, in Stark Tower, there were expensive things everywhere.

 

Clint had evidently chosen a window, as he paused in his ascent, pulled out a tool, and went about carefully cutting through the window around the edges. He gently pushed it inside once it was detached, and crept through the frame, landing inside the building light on his feet as a cat. Though Natasha couldn’t condone or approve of Clint’s actions, she felt a certain personal pride at how he’d adapted to this life, and made it work for him to be able to survive. Clint looked around, automatically casing what there was to steal in the room, what he’d be able to put in his pack and what he would rappel down alongside him.

 

Of course, that was when the lights flicked on, revealing a short man seated in the corner of the room, sipping from a glass of scotch with a smirk. Natasha frowned, apprehension flooding through her. She was relatively familiar with Tony, both through watching him herself and through Bruce, but he was unpredictable at best, and this could end horribly for her charge. Clint froze, eyes widening, orange and brown sparking around him. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Clint said wryly, “Room service?”

 

Tony Stark chuckled, seemingly at ease with the armed burglar in his home. Natasha tensed as he set the glass down and walked towards Clint, a bounce in his step. “Those were some pretty impressive tools I saw there, buddy,” he said by way of greeting. Clint raised an eyebrow, shifting his left foot slightly to stand in a more defensive posture.

 

“How’d you know?” he questioned crossly, looking somewhere caught between proud and apprehensive.

 

Tony smirked again. “That your toys were… not terrible? ‘Cause you were physically able to get up a difficult building to climb and enter. Plus, cameras everywhere, duh. Unless you’re talking about how I knew you were here. In that case- my AI-slash-computer-slash-butler J.A.R.V.I.S alerted me the moment an armed man came within feet of my building.” His aura was lazy waves of yellow, aqua, and hot pink; he was clearly enjoying himself.

 

The speed at which Tony talked threw Clint a bit, his eyes narrowed as he tried to follow Tony’s lips to read (a little deafness courtesy of a bad accident during a raid when Clint was fifteen; he couldn’t afford hearing aids). Natasha helped out a little, whispering the words into Clint’s mind and easing some of the tension in his shoulders.

 

Ever the type to roll with the punches, Clint merely shrugged. “Thanks, man. But you can’t have them- I made them myself, and I need them. And, if it makes you feel any better, I wasn’t gonna hurt anyone. Just… grab a few things to cover rent, ya know?” He paused. “Well, also I just wanted to see if I could,” he added with a grin.

 

Tony gave him a searching look, before an answering smile came over his face. “You like it so much? Move in.”

 

Clint blanched at that, mouth hanging open “What? Did I lip read you wrong?” he asked weakly, now shifting uncomfortably. But Natasha was openly grinning, thrilled at the turn that his encounter was taking. Of all the possible outcomes that could have come from this, it was the best possible one. Fuck it, it was the best possible outcome for Clint to have in any situation these days. Her charge had been living in one of the seediest apartment buildings possible in Bed Stuy, living off of cheap pizza and other takeout, often having to resort to stealing to pay the rent. If he accepted Tony's offer, then he would have a free (and safe) place to live, plenty of food to eat, and be able to (hopefully) find a real job, or at least stop turning to crime. She eagerly pushed her thoughts towards his, trying to instill her excitement and eagerness to accept in him.

 

Clint shook his head slightly, as if he was flicking off an irritating fly. "Why would you let me live here? I literally just broke in to rob you," he protested, taking a step back towards the window. His natural wariness to accept help, especially from strangers, was kicking in, his immediate suspicion of generosity making him wary.

 

Tony waved a hand. "Water under the bridge. Hey, I know what it looks like when you've run out of options. The way I see it, it's a trade-off. You get new teach, food, and shelter- it's not like this Tower is bursting with people- and I get your skills."

 

Blinking, Clint repeated, "My skills?"

 

Already backing towards his scotch (careful to keep his face and lips towards Clint, Natasha noticed), Tony rambled on. "I mean, let's face it, to even get up here and past my security guards- the human ones, that is- is impressive. And I've been keeping tabs on you, ever since that incident in Hell's Kitchen a few months back." Clint cursed, muttering about _that damned Devil_ and _didn't need any help_. Natasha snorted softly- she remembered that night. Clint had definitely needed Matt Murdock's help, as the mob didn't take kindly to people trying to spy on their business, or stealing from it. “I’m looking for people to help start a new sector of my company with, one that focused on helping and protecting others.”

 

"How do I know this isn't a trap?" Clint asked, for the first time some nervousness and apprehension showing in his voice and his aura.

 

"Um... 'cause I don't do tricks? Look, if I wanted you out, you'd already be in jail in Uganda. I'm making a peace offering here. No offense, but you'd be dumb as hell to refuse it." Tony flopped back in his chair, studying Clint casually, like he didn't care whether he accepted the offer or not.

 

Snorting, Clint said, “I haven’t survived as long as I have by trusting any old person who talks to me.”

 

With a sharp smirk, Tony replied, “I’m not just any old person- I’m _the_ Tony Stark.”

 

Chewing on his lips, Clint debated inwardly, Natasha pushing more positive and supportive feelings into his mind. She could feel him reviewing his situation, all of his safe houses and bolt holes across the city- a few around the country- and seeing what he could risk. But Clint had to accept this, this was a once in a lifetime shot at security, and she couldn't let him miss it. Besides, Natasha had a feeling he and Tony would get along. "Alright... fine. But I have to go back to my apartment, grab my stuff. And Lucky."

 

Tony smiled brightly, but then cocked his head. "What's Lucky?"

 

"My dog," Clint replied, laughing slightly at the grimace Tony made. "Hey, no dogs, no me."

 

Putting on a show of exasperation (except Natasha could see the bright colors of his hot pink, aqua, and light blue aura dancing around), Tony swept out of his chair, gesturing for Clint to follow him out of the room. "I suppose I can allow it," he sighed, throwing an arm around Clint's shoulders, ignoring Clint’s aborted reach for the switchblade in his waistband. "Besides, J.A.R.V.I.S. will be watching you at all times anyway. Just in case, you know, you decide to try and kill me and rob me anyway. Now, let me give you a tour, and you can pick your floor..."

 

"A whole _floor_?!" Clint exclaimed, aqua and light yellow jumping through his aura like a child.

 

“I’ll even show you access to the vents,” Tony prompted, earning a fist pump from Clint.

 

Wanting to dance for joy, Natasha let out a laugh as she flew back to Heaven, going straight to the break room in search of Bruce. As soon as she spotted the other Angel, she went up and leaned on his shoulder. Bruce looked surprised at the casual touch, but gave her a small smile all the same. “Natasha- how can I help you?”

 

She grinned mischievously, grabbing Bruce’s hand and hauling him up from his chair. “I have something to show you. Follow me.” With that she threw herself back into the air, shooting back down to Earth with Bruce in tow. They landed back in Stark Tower, where Tony and Clint were currently arguing the merits of iced coffee versus hot coffee, the latter man obviously having already moved his things onto his new floor.

 

“Iced coffee is clearly superior, you can immediately chug it without burning your mouth, _and_ they brew it more concentrated so that the ice doesn’t water it down too much!” Tony cried, hands flying as he gesticulated.

 

Clint snorted. “Bro, nothing beats good old fashioned hot coffee straight from the pot. Plus, you _can_ chug that… if you’re not a pussy.”

 

The two caught on like a house on fire, and Natasha grinned anew as she side-eyed Bruce next to her. Bruce looked amazed, and he had a smile on his face too as he turned back towards Natasha. “It seems as though our charges have found each other,” Bruce mused, nudging Natasha’s shoulder gently with his.

 

“That they have, Bruce. And I think this is the start of something wonderful,” she drawled, straightening back up where she stood. “Alright, that’s all I wanted to show you, I’m just gonna spend the rest of the night keeping an eye on Clint. New surroundings, and all.” Bruce cocked his head, giving her a strange look. “I’ll even keep an eye on Tony, too, and come get you if we need anything.”

 

Bruce continued to peer at her through his (utterly useless) glasses, before shrugging. “Suit yourself. Just don’t let him blow up his new roommate on Clint’s first night here.” Natasha chuckled and nodded, Bruce disappearing in a soft waterfall of light.

 

Turning back to the Tower before her, Natasha watched as Tony babbled at Clint about new inventions and wanting Clint to test some of his new long range things. Eventually, as the sun started to peak above the horizon, Clint was yawning hugely every few minutes, and made his excuses as he returned to his floor from Tony’s lab. As soon as Clint was alone in his room, rubbing his eyes tiredly, Natasha flew to him, appearing in the corner of the room. “Nice digs,” she commented dryly.

 

Clint immediately beamed, all traces of exhaustion gone. “Nat!” he called, coming forward to embrace her. She smiled fondly, returning the tight hug. It wasn’t often that she came down to Earth, about once a month, but Clint was ecstatic each time. Pulling back, he kissed her firmly, arms coming down to loop around her waist. In response, she threaded her fingers into his hair and tugged a little, parting her lips to deepen the kiss.

 

Natasha had decided, when Clint was around 23, that she had had enough of trying to decipher her feelings about her charge- was it love? overt caring? a need for friendship?- and flew down to meet the human himself. She had cloaked and hidden herself so efficiently that not even her closest friends would have been able to track her Grace, and appeared to Clint in his tiny apartment in San Antonio, Texas. Clint had jumped, eyes darting over the glowing woman who had appeared in his apartment, and then peered suspiciously at his coffee, as if it was its fault he was hallucinating.

 

Natasha had gotten right to the point, explaining who and what she was. She had held back the reason that she had decided to show herself, however, wanting to have more time with the human before admitting anything, even to herself. Clint had merely blinked, and had asked “So, does this mean I can’t die?” Natasha hadn’t been able to stop her chuckle as she sat down on the couch next to him, letting her foot casually brush his denim-covered leg. The two had talked for hours, and Natasha had returned whenever she could. It got harder to visit, especially as Bucky started bringing suspicious eyes towards their garrison _and_ Heaven started locking up its proverbial windows after the business.

 

It had only taken a few meetings over the span of two months for Natasha to realize that she had, in fact, fallen in love with her charge. She had told Clint one night by simply pulling him towards her, kissing him as if his life depended on it. When she had pulled away- slightly apprehensive- Clint had looked dazed and awestruck. “Were there actual sparks or was that you?” he had asked woozily, and Natasha had laughed, pulling him in again.

 

Now, years later, they had a routine, Clint understanding of the limitations she faced, and she now an expert at shielding both her presence and her thoughts. Every time she visited, she felt a fresh tearing of her Grace, the guilt almost physically painful in a way emotions shouldn’t be for her anymore. But Clint was the only thing that kept her believing in herself and her job, and so no matter how much is burned her to be able to have this while Bucky was being Punished, she refused to let him go. Pulling away, Clint tucked a bright red lock of hair behind her hair. “Not that I’m complaining, but why the visit?” he asked.

 

Natasha smirked at him, reaching down to finger the hem of his ratty t-shirt. “I wanted to come and congratulate you on your move,” she replied.

 

Clint snickered. “Yea, I had to admit, I was scared shitless there for a moment. Did you know it would happen?” There was no accusation in his voice, simply curiosity

 

Shaking her head, the Angel said, “No. I mean, I had my guesses- I’m sorry, but you were never going to get away with this stunt- but this turned out much better than I thought it would. Tony is a good man.” Clint nodded, absentmindedly running a hand down her back. She shivered as he brushed over the base of her right wing, even if he couldn’t see it through her projection. He noticed, immediately going back to rubbing that spot with a smirk.

 

Stepping back, she smacked his hand away. “Behave, I can’t stay. I just came to say hi.” Clint pouted at her, and she rolled her eyes, reaching out and smoothing down his hair. “Don’t pout, it’s unattractive.” It was adorable, but she would be dead before she admitted that. “Besides, I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

 

With that she stepped back towards him, giving him a kiss goodbye. “Mmm, goodbye, Nat. Missed you. Don’t lose any feathers,” he joked. With a scoff and another eye roll, she disappeared again, letting Clint bask in the light from her Grace for just a moment.

 

The next months passed uneventfully, Heaven secure and quiet without any further attacks from Loki, though the guard of the Defense garrison still weren’t lowered yet. Her garrison mostly passed by each other, each deep in their own errands and thoughts. Clint and Tony bonded as they played video games, watched shitty movies, and tested out unstable and unknown toys. Natasha visited when she could, spreading out her visits so that no one could get suspicious of her disappearances. No news was heard of Bucky, and though is saddened Natasha, she couldn’t risk digging after her friend. She would bide her time until something came up, and _then_ fight to save him. She was patient, she could wait.

 

It wasn’t until late August, the dog days of summer, that anything important rocked the boat. “Natasha, I have something I wish to discuss with you.” If she hadn’t heard his wings, the sudden appearance of Thor right beside her in the Garden would have startled her. For such a large and old Angel, he could move incredibly silently when he wanted to. “I think that my charge Darcy may be in trouble," he said as soon as he appeared, twisting his hands. Normally, this would be a problem that he would solve on his own, with even closer surveillance and even reading into the thoughts of hic charge (no matter how much he hated doing so). But the strange occurrences had been happening for over a year now, and Thor was growing incredibly concerned when he could not find a solution to this dilemma.

 

Natasha tilted her head. It was unusual for the older Angel to come seek her for help, but she supposed that as the new leader of the garrison it was her duty.

 

Thor paused to gather his thoughts. "Well, there are these... disappearances. Times when I cannot see nor feel her anywhere on Earth. It never happens for long, just overnight at the longest, and she always reappears afterwards, unharmed and everything normal." He paused once more, hands fidgeting with the edge of his cape. "I have tried and tried for months to discern what happens during these times, but to no avail. There are no ill side effects, but I fear having her out of my sight. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

 

Frowning, Natasha blew a piece of hair out of her face. "Well, the only thing that could hide an Angel's charge is another Angel. But then you would be able to pick them out, feel their Grace." She _hmm_ ed in thought. "And you said she's never harmed afterwards?" Thor shook his head. "Huh. No, I can't say that I have heard of such a thing before. I'm sorry, Thor, but perhaps I could help you keep an eye on her, see if I can see anything you missed?" she offered, feeling bad for the obviously distressed Angel.

 

"That would be most appreciated, Natasha. Thank you," Thor replied with a smile. However, he did not fly away, merely staying in his spot, shifting from foot to foot.

 

Something else was bothering her friend, something even more important than a missing charge, or else he would have lead with it. "What else is there, Thor?" Natasha questioned. He seemed nervous and fidgety, and she could catch gleams of his aura, lavender and lime green as it jumped around him.

 

The blonde exhaled, before sitting down abruptly on the bench next to her. He tapped his fingers against his legs, only stopping when Natasha wrapped her (much smaller) hand around them. Thor smiled sheepishly at Natasha, and though she didn't smile back as she raised a questioning eyebrow, she kept her expression open and calm.

 

"I... I have a conundrum," Thor said, not really explaining anything. Natasha waited, certain that Thor would ramble out the true cause to his distress soon enough. "I... my lady Jane. She has grown into a fine woman, no one can deny that. She is smart and kind, fearless yet gentle, and is gorgeous." Natasha bit her tongue as she realized where this was going, trying to hold back both her excited cheers for her friend and the horrified screams of someone who had already lost a friend to this. "Obviously, I have been watching over her all her life, and through that experience I have come to see her, better than any on Earth. And I... find myself wishing that I could...." Thor ground to a halt again, seemingly frustrated with his inability to explain with words. Anything Thor couldn't say with an embrace or a fight was obviously important and difficult.

 

Natasha sighed. "Do you love her?" It seemed that everyone in their garrison was encountering the same problem, and it was only a matter of time before something bad happened to one of them. Again. At least this time, she would be able to help her friend, she thought with a wince.

 

Thor bowed his head, as if ashamed. "Yes, I adore her with all my Grace." It was not the first time Thor had been in love, but it was the first time he had connected so with a human charge, and with Bucky having been gone for months now over something very similar, he simply needed friendly advice.

 

Reaching over to lay a hand on his shoulder, Natasha chewed on her lip, a bad habit she had picked up from Bucky. There were so many different ways that this conversation could go. She could tell Thor to drop it, to step away from the situation in order to save both himself and his human. She could tell him to go for it, explain her own methods and routines, and allow him to have this happiness while it lasted. Or, she could do nothing, simply offer flat condolences in an effort to stay uninvolved.

 

But Natasha was finished with not helping her friends, and she was certainly finished with all of Heavens' ridiculous rules. Bucky had suffered, and she would not let Thor do the same. "I would say that... things like this don't happen every millennia. If you really love this girl, then you must seize the chance while you have it. If you want... I can help."

 

It took a moment for her words to sink in, but then Thor was beaming at her, reaching out to grab her hand enthusiastically. "Truly, my friend? You will help me?" Light yellow, magenta, and light bluw tumbled around in the air about him.

 

Natasha nodded, Thor's infectious smile making it impossible not to return it. "Yea. Let's just say I've had some practice in recent years." She tapped her nose conspiratorially, and Thor smirked, but winked in reply. He may have been several thousand millennia older than Natasha, but his strengths had always lain in force and surprise; Thor was not used to sneaking in the shadows and hiding in the Planes. "Now, let me tell you everything I've learned about shielding myself from any level Angel...."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now begins some discussion and thoughts of depression, so again, read at your discretion.

_He is lost,_

_and broken,_

_and that is what makes him so very_

_dangerous._

 

2010- October

 

“Wait… Jane? You used to go here, didn’t you?” Darcy had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, confident that she knew the woman walking the other way. The two had worked briefly together on a project in an engineering class Jane’s last year at Culver and Darcy’s first.

 

Jane looked up from her papers. “Yes, not for a couple years… wait, Darcy?” she asked incredulously. She remembered the younger girl- though they hadn’t done much outside of the in-class workshops, the two had gotten along quite well, even texting briefly for a couple weeks after Jane graduated.

 

Darcy let out a squeal, running over to Jane and throwing her arms around her in a strong hug. Thor chuckled as he observed his charges from the pond in the Garden. His Jane and Darcy had finally reunited, as Fate foretold that they would. He was not yet sure what they would accomplish, as he was not a Seer, but he knew that the two fierce woman would prove to be an unstoppable team. That was the reason for which he had been gifted with watching over them both, since they would be inseparable from here on out.

 

Down below on Earth, the squealing and the hugs had finally died down, the two brunettes now chattering happily to one another, telling each other what they had done and what they had been up to in the past few years. Jane talked about her latest research proposals, and the program that she was currently starting at Culver. Darcy explained in detail the new computer she had built last year, how it was in the process of being patented, and how she was currently in the market for a new project (Thor saw much eyebrow wiggling as she said that). Jane beamed, and gave Darcy an intern position on the spot. The two embraced again, and Thor sighed happily, his Grace calmed at the sight of the two women getting along so well.

 

It was a much-needed feeling, as he had been on edge and uneasy about several things for years now. Loki had ceased his attacks, it seemed. Thor had not seen his brother since the attack when he had brought Jane into Heaven, and Thor was torn between relief and unhappiness. He had hoped that Loki would see reason when confronted with it, but his brother had vanished all the same, running away from Thor as he always did. However, the silence made Thor uneasy; either Loki was waiting and plotting something larger- which would most certainly cause a large amount of destruction, if the large effect of his previous half-hearted attempts was anything to go by- or his interest had been captured by something else. Which, depending on what it was, could be a good or bad opportunity.

 

However, even more distressing, Darcy had continued to disappear out from under Thor's nose. It happened with regular frequency, and though Thor had studied the issue and asked others and worked his wings off to figure it out... he couldn't. There was no Angel in Heaven who had an interest in Darcy, but that was the only way she could be hidden so from Thor. So in time he had been forced to let the issue lie, focusing on protecting her as much as he could when she was near.

 

But now, perhaps, that she had Jane, the other human would notice the odd habits, or be able to figure out where Darcy went. Jane was quite smart like that. The thought made Thor grin, and he brought up a hand to hide it. Soon after Natasha's advice, he had appeared to Jane, using Natasha's cloaking and sight disrupting methods to hide himself and Jane from the view of unfriendly eyes.

 

_Nerves making his wings twitch and bristle, Thor stepped out of the Planes and into Jane's lab, hands clutched tightly to one another. It was late in the night- or very early in the morning- and so the lab was empty except for his charge, who was clearly deeply involved in her work. Clearing his throat, Thor frowned as it failed to get the other's attention. "Jane," he called softly. Jane's head jerked up at the sound of her name, and her most-likely annoyed response (if the sharp frown was anything to go by) was stilled by Thor's projection. He had chosen to forego the cape and armor this day, merely wearing simple black pants and shirt, with a red vest over top._

_"What...?" Jane mused, tilting her head as she started at Thor. Thor knew that she was brilliant, and that she would immediately see that he was no normal human. Sure enough, her eyes stopped their analytical wandering and snapped back up to his face. "Who, or what, are you?" she demanded, holding her welding torch like a weapon._

_Thor couldn't help but chuckle, his Grace still reaching for his charge even as she kept her distance. "Jane, my name is Thor. I am your Guardian Angel." He let his projection fade somewhat, allowing more of the light from his Grace to show through, the faintest outline of his wings now visible._

_At that, Jane gasped, eyes going wide. "No... way...." she breathed. She immediately rounded her table, coming closer to Thor. "Are you really? This is amazing. No one has ever managed to confirm the existence of any celestial energy, whether it was simply the souls of the departed or Angels, if they even existed, that is. But now... I can see a light that seems to be coming from somewhere inside of you, and the air smells... it smells like fresh air, like ozone.... How is this possible?"_

_It took a moment for Thor to realize her ramblings had halted as he asked him a direct question. "Oh... um..." Thor cleared his throat. "Yes, it is true. I am an Angel, specifically a Seraph. I have been watching over you your whole life, Jane." He winced slightly at the wording of that, hoping Jane would not take offense or be scared off._

_However, Jane was nodding, eyes unfocused as her mind- Thor was sure- whirled through dozens of theories and reports. "So now... you've come to see me?" she asked, acutely hesitant, the thought suddenly coming to her. "Am I going to... am I dead?" Thor stared at her for a second, and then burst into laughter, as her aura was filled with the orange and lavender of annoyance and anxiety, rather than any fear or sadness. His charge was more annoyed at the prospect of leaving work undone than she was worried about death. What an incredible woman._

_"Nay, my Jane. I have simply decided that I do not wish to hide my presence from you anymore. I have watched you grow into a fine and intelligent young woman, and I do not wish to simply hide in the clouds and watch any longer." At that Jane blushed, and Thor gave her a soft smile, hoping that this did not scare her away. He had already decided not to tell her about Darcy, in case things went badly here, in order to prevent Darcy from being involved. And, of course, Jane had to meet her future-friend naturally._

_But, true to her form, Jane simply took a deep breath and said, "Well, can you help in a lab?"_

 

Now, four years later, the two were happily together, Thor thanking everything holy that he knew that he had this time with such a radiant and amazing woman. Jane seemed to be happy as well, or at least he hoped, as Thor _was_ able to help immensely in her labs, and had led her to many breakthroughs in her research and experiments over the years. And, of course, he had allowed her to study him, as long as she kept those notes secret and locked away from prying eyes. It had been a happy few years, and though Thor wished that he could visit more often than twice a month, it was more than he had ever hoped for.

 

But now, another was destined to join their little family, and though Thor had already told Jane that she could not reveal a single thing about him to anybody, he ruminated on the idea of revealing himself to Darcy as well. It would not be fair for one charge to have more knowledge than the other. However, he was already taking an incredible risk (though gladly so) by being with Jane. But, he had plenty of time to think about the issue, as the adventure of his two charges had just begun.

 

Over the next few months, the two women became fast friends, bonding over everything from reality television shows to their shared love for sugary cereals. It was not long before Darcy was moving into Jane's apartment, happily leaving the ‘god awful prison cell’ of her campus apartment. It made it that much harder to visit Jane in secret, but Thor did not regret the change, as it meant that both of his charges were happier than they ever had been.

 

It was a chilly January day in the lab, when Jane had paused in her work for a rare food respite (courtesy of Darcy practically braining Jane with the takeout boxes), that Thor finally received some answers to his questions about Darcy.

 

Almost absentmindedly picking at her box of noodles, Jane asked, "Darcy, where do you go sometimes?" The non-sequitur made Darcy look up from her phone in confusion.

 

"Huh?" she asked, scrunching up her face.

 

Jane swallowed her mouthful of food. "I mean, every once in a while, you leave the apartment- which, like, fine, duh- but you don't say where you’re going, or come back for hours, and you never answer your phone. It's like you disappear off the face of the earth." Thor sat forward from his perch in front of the Garden pool, fervently thanking Fate that he had decided to come and watch his charges today.

 

Darcy froze, eyes going wide for a moment before she controlled her emotions. Thor could see whirling lime green and black around her, and he frowned, wondering what could possibly have bothered her so much. Taking a breath, Darcy looked back at her phone, her tone becoming nonchalant once more. "Well, I do have a boyfriend I go see, if that's what you mean."

 

Jane gawked, mouth hanging open and full of food once more. "You have a boyfriend? And you didn't _tell_ me?" Jane sounded hurt, as if Darcy choosing not to tell her was an insult against her person. Thor didn’t quite understand why, but he too was interested in the abrupt appearance of a man in Darcy’s life that he had never even noticed before.

 

Snorting, Darcy shrugged. "It's not a huge thing. We've been dating a few months now-"

 

"A few _months_?" Jane shrieked.

 

"-and he’s... secretive. He doesn't really like crowds or new people, so it's all really low key." Darcy shrugged once more, looking back up at Jane. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but… the opportunity just hasn’t come up.”

 

Jane didn’t look satisfied by that response, glaring down at her noodles like they were at fault. “Well… what’s his name? Is he hot?” The two met each other’s gazes again, giggling as the tension in the air retreated.

 

Stowing her phone away, Darcy sat up straight, strangely eager for someone who had been so closed down a minute ago. “His name is Tom. And Jane, believe me, this guy is the _hottest_ man I have ever seen in my life. All tall and dark, kinda broody, but it works for him, ya know? And his eyes… Jesus, Jane, I could write poetry about them. And you know how much I hate poetry.”

 

Jane chuckled. “I assume you don’t have any pictures of him?”

 

Darcy shook her head. “Nah, he doesn’t like getting pictures taken. Which sucks, ‘cause he totally could be a model.”

 

Their chatter stayed focused a bit longer on the frustratingly vague topic of Darcy’s boyfriend before drifting back to their project, at which point the food was abandoned and the lab was back in full swing. But Thor sat motionless at the pond, chin in hand, mind whirling. He had no doubts that whoever this man was, he was the reason for Darcy’s literal disappearances. The only question was, how could Thor find him, and how long was it going to be before something went terribly wrong?

 

* * *

 

 

2011- May

 

 _“ **Hey Thor, I think you should come see this.** ”_ Bruce’s summoning caught Thor by surprise as he did exercises in the training arena, and he huffed a bit as he took wing, flying to the Garden where the other Angel was waiting. He was a bit worried, as there were still suspicions and anxiety about Loki attacking once more. But it was all calm as he arrived; Bruce was standing by a pool, looking amused as he watched whatever was occurring with the humans. Thor walked up beside him, tilting his head questioningly as he met Bruce’s gaze. Jerking his chin, Bruce indicated the pool, saying, “Aren’t those your charges?”

 

Thor immediately craned his neck to see into the water. In the pool, Thor could see Tony Stark himself, shaking hands first with Jane and then Darcy. “What is going on?” Thor asked, not too overly concerned. Tony Stark was a good man- he posed no threat to his charges. But he was not sure how he knew Jane and Darcy, or why they were in New York meeting with him. All three of their auras were jumping mixes of purple, light yellow, and aqua, and they were conversing with many large hand gestures.

 

Bruce gave him a smile. “Remember the breakthrough that Jane and Darcy had on the quantum entanglement theory?” Thor nodded, remembering how ecstatic Jane had been when she had run her theory by Thor, who had confirmed its validity. She and Darcy had immediately set about writing a journal report, and it had quickly gained notoriety in the academic world. “Well, Tony read it, and decided that he wants to add your two scientists into his collection.”

 

Thor frowned. “His collection?”

 

Shrugging, Bruce answered, “He collects people who will be useful to him. It sounds bad, but really, he brings some of the brightest minds under one company, produces some really amazing things, and gives them funding and opportunities they otherwise never would have had.”

 

“Ah, I understand. Well, then this is a good thing!” Thor said, now beaming. Bruce nodded his head, a fond smile on his face. “What is happening currently?”

 

Shifting to peer down into the pool, Bruce said, “He had sent them a helicopter to bring them up to New York to meet with him in his Tower. They just arrived, and he’s currently introducing himself and expounding on the many successes of his business, and the merits of his Tower.” He smirked, looking at Thor. “Your girls are seeing right through his act, however.”

 

Thor chuckled. “Aye, that they would. Jane is not so easily swayed, and she has become incredibly fond of Culver University.”

 

Bruce nodded. “I can see that. Look.” He shifted over a bit to give Thor a clear view into the pool.

 

Down on Earth, Jane raised an eyebrow. “Look, Mr. Stark-”

 

“Call me Tony.” he interrupted.

 

“-but what is really the purpose of this visit? I am in the middle of a new project, and I’d really like to get back.” At her side, Darcy nodded, crossing her arms. Thor grinned at her fierceness; nothing came before her work, not even Thor (which he prided her on). Her aura showed that she was very much interested, however.

 

Tony studied the two of them, before smirking. “See, I knew I would like you two. Sharp as a couple of tacks. Look, I’ll say this simple: I want you to come work for me.” He clapped his hands as if it was already a done deal.

 

Jane blinked, clearly taken by surprise. “Work for you?” Darcy let out a little squeak, coming up on her tip toes to shimmy a little.

 

Nodding, Tony continued, “I have the best and leading technology, state of the art labs that are just sitting here, sad and empty, and all the money that you could possible use. So, you in?”

 

Mouth open, Jane stared at Tony some more. “Yes!” Darcy butted in, smiling widely. “We would _love_ to come work in your fancy-schmancy labs and use your money! Does it come with living space?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Her and Tony’s auras shown brighter, while Jane’s just swirled more violently.

 

Tony grinned, and Thor could see him immediately taking a liking to his charge. “Why my dear, of _course_ it does!” he crowed, throwing an arm around each other. “I knew you’d see it my way. Come on, let me show you your labs, and introduce you to the guinea pig, Clint. Well, he’s a human, but he’s _my_ guinea pig for new inventions. I think you and him will get along swimmingly, Darcy.” With that he frog-marched them to the elevators, Jane looking like she wasn’t quite sure what had just happened and Darcy chattering happily away with Stark (those two would obviously be a handful).

 

“I do believe our charges have found each other,” Bruce said, echoing the words he had said to Natasha.

 

Thor beamed. “Aye, and Natasha’s charge as well. What a strange occurrence, that all of our charges should be together, living and working in one building.”

 

Bruce nodded, though there was a thoughtful edge to his smile. “Yea, what a strange Fate indeed.”

 

* * *

 

2012- August

 

Steve blinked, scrunching his eyes up against the ceiling, even though the lights weren't that bright. It took him a couple minutes to adjust to it, and he simply blinked up owlishly at the tiles above his head for a moment. Once he could see clearly once more, he tried to shift his head to look around, a pained gasp escaping him at how stiff and unyielding his muscles were. The simple effort of tilting his head to the right to see the rest of the room left him trembling, and he closed his eyes once more to gather himself. Swallowing thickly, wincing at the severe burn at the back of his throat and the feel of a tube in his mouth, Steve tried to talk, the tube with a clumsy tongue leaving him with nothing but a garbled groan. But it seemed to be enough, or the monitors he could hear vaguely beeping somewhere to his left had alerted someone, because just then a nurse came bounding in. She looked shocked, mouth falling open as her eyes met Steve's. He furrowed his brow, trying to get his arm to cooperate to lift up and point at his throat and the tube still in it. It was slow going, his fingers and hand simply twitching against the bedsheets.

 

The nurse seemed to have recovered from her surprise. Her nametag said ‘Claire’, and she immediately shifted into business mode. "Mr. Rogers. You're... awake. Let me go get the doctor." Steve huffed, jerking his chin slightly, trying to indicate that he wanted the tube out. The nurse paused in the doorway, looking at his frown and awkward head angle, before realization stole over her features. "Well, I suppose you won't need that anymore..." Hustling back over to his bed, she set about gently removing the tube, the sensation of it coming back up his throat supremely unpleasant. Steve huffed as it was finally free, licking his lips and swallowing again.

 

"W'er?" No, that wasn't right. Steve frowned, trying to gain moisture back with his tongue and attempting again. "Wa-er." He growled slightly in frustration, his tongue feeling clumsy and uncooperative in his mouth.

 

Luckily the nurse understood. She nodded briskly, saying "I'll be right back with the doctor and a glass of water." Steve gave her a weak smile, watching her as she left.

 

In the minutes that she was gone, he tried to take stock of his body. He couldn't get his limbs to coordinate with him, any attempted movement turning into twitches and tiny half-inch shifts. It was frustrating as hell; it was like his brain wasn't sending the messages it needed to, and his muscles weren't listening to any of the impulses they got. Leaning his head back against the pillow, Steve closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He needed to stay calm, to figure out what had happened- getting angry wouldn't solve this particular fight.

 

So... why was he here? What had landed him here? His memories were... hazy, at best. Sure, he knew he was Steve Rogers, twenty years old and a Lieutenant in the Army... but what had happened to him? Where even was he? How long had he been asleep? Judging from the dryness in his mouth, he'd guess at least a few days. So something awful must have happened to him... was it a mission? Were the Commandos okay?

 

The start of what could have been a panic attack was interrupted as the nurse returned, a glass of water in her hand and an Asian woman in tow. Holding out the cup to Steve's face, the nurse said, "This is Doctor Helen Cho, she's been taking care of you." Steve glared balefully as the nurse continued to hold the cup to his face, but she was undeterred. "Your motor control is still off, and will be for a while. Just drink." Sighing, Steve did as he was told, and the water felt like heaven on his parched throat. He finished the entire small cup, letting out a shaky exhale as he leaned back into his pillow, neck already screaming from stiffness and forced motion. Looking back towards the doctor, he waited expectantly, not trusting his clumsy feeling tongue.

 

Stepping up closer, Dr. Cho opened up her clipboard. "Welcome back, Mr. Rogers." That was... an odd greeting. Steve nodded hesitantly, nerves creeping through him. "You had a pretty unbelievable accident- the fact that you're awake at all is a miracle."

 

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. An accident? A miracle? Something was itching at his brain, something important that he knew- but when he reached for it, it slipped away. Swallowing down another strong bout of frustration, he turned back to Dr. Cho, trying to form his mouth around the words that would ask for more information. "Wha'... happ'n'd?” He winced, embarrassment at his childlike speech making his face flush slightly.

 

The doctor seemed unfazed. "You were on a mission, to capture Johann Schmidt, head of Hydra terrorist group." Steve nodded eagerly, the prompting bringing vague memories to the surface. "You had gone down into the basement, found a wide array of bombs spread over the whole world, and set about disarming all of them. However, the base you were in exploded- you were in the direct epicenter of the blast, and your teammates found you half buried under rubble." The bombs... he remembered the bombs! There had been so many...

 

He swallowed again, eyes wide, "Di' I-"

 

Dr. Cho interrupted. "Mr. Rogers, you saved the world, and at a great personal cost." At that he furrowed his brow again, opening his mouth once more- "Steve... you've been in a coma for seven years now."

 

Steve froze, his mouth now hanging open like a fish. _Seven years_? He had been asleep for _seven years_. He couldn't process that... how was that even possible? How had he even survived that? What had happened to his team, his friends.... Did they survive? What was Steve supposed to do now? What had he missed? So much could happen in seven years.

 

The doctor interrupted his panicked thoughts. "I know this is a lot to process. People have been digging into the accident for years now, trying to figure out what went down in that bunker. Everyone, now that you're awake, will want to meet with you and ask you thousands of questions." Nerves crept across Steve again, and he bit his lip, eyes flicking down to the bed spread. "Of course, we won't allow that, not until you've had a couple months to properly rehabilitate."

 

His gaze snapped back up at that. “Mmmonths?” He didn't have months, he had to get back to his teammates, he had to go back to his job, he had to... he wanted to go home.

 

Dr. Cho frowned sympathetically. "Steve, your body has been out of commission for seven years. Through massages and PT, along with advanced nutrient mixtures and IVs, we've managed to physically keep your body hale. But your mind, on the other hand... I'm sure you've noticed difficulties in both moving and talking, some strong mood swings, slow or erratic thoughts...." As she trailed off, obviously waiting for an answer, Steve nodded slowly, his eyes dancing away from hers again. "Your mind needs to get back into the ‘awake’ mode before you can go anywhere."

 

Steve frowned fiercely, but he was quickly losing steam to argue about it right now. He lifted one heavy shoulder in a conciliatory (and no, it was not sulky) shrug. He was self-aware enough to admit that he would definitely be a terrible patient, as he didn’t have the patience or the calmness needed for this type of recovery.

 

Dr. Cho flipped the papers back flat on her clipboard. "Well, I think we'll let you get some rest and process. There's the call button, though if you're hungry be warned- you'll have to slowly acclimate to a solid diet again, so there will be lots of smoothies and soup over the next couple weeks. I'll be back tomorrow morning, Steve. Goodnight." With that she left the room, heels clicking.

 

Steve sighed expansively, eyes screwed shut with the effort of keeping the tears at bay. There wasn't anything specific to cry about, really. He was alive. He was awake (finally). His idiotic plan at the base had worked. He would be able to recover. Steve was _lucky._

 

But he had lost seven years. Seven years of his life that he would never get back. His friends must not even remember him, his apartment must have been sold and his possessions pawned off. He had missed so many opportunities; so many new friends to meet, maybe finally a woman or a man he could have loved.... Steve knew this level of regret was ridiculous, and he was willing to put it down to the coma still insidiously choking his brain, but he couldn't help the rage and unfairness swamping him, until he was gritting his teeth and his breath was hissing between them.

 

Claire came over to the bed from where she had been standing (somewhat awkwardly) by the door. “Listen, Steve- I know this is a big shock. But trust me, right now the best thing you can do is to get some rest. Therapy is gonna be a bitch.” The cursing shocked Steve into a chuckle, which sounded hoarse and choking to his ears, and Claire grinned at him. “Hit the call button if you need anything, but go to sleep.” She left the room, flicking the lights off as she went.

 

Sighing harshly, Steve tried to get comfortable on the bed, wincing as his weakened muscles screamed. Closing his eyes, he found that he couldn’t sleep even if he tried. _‘That’s what I get for sleeping for seven years straight,’_ he thought wryly. Instead, he forced his mind to think back to the mission, the accident, to see if he could just _remember_ instead of lying here useless. It felt like trying to walk through mud, or quicksand; every step took physical effort, his mind not wanting to recount the trauma, but Steve _needed_ this, needed to know for sure.

 

The pictures were hazy, like watching a movie on an old super-8 film reel. They flickered in and out, visuals lost as conversations still rolled on, or watching his teammates without their voices like in a silent film. He remembered the hasty trip to the base, their half-assed surprise attack plan that had actually worked, finding the control room… ordering his men out, working the bombs… then nothing. Steve swallowed- that must have been when the base exploded. He was glad he didn’t remember it… something told him that he wouldn’t want the memories of the broken limbs and burns. God, how was he even alive? Were there pictures of him, of the base? How many people know ab-

 

 _‘Steve, please, you have to leave!’_ A voice echoed in his head, and Steve furrowed his brow, chasing the memory as fast as he could. Who had said that? _‘Steve, just- just take care of yourself, yeah?’_ The voice was unfamiliar, yet it filled Steve with a sense of peace that he didn’t know he could feel. Someone… someone else was there in the bunker! His eyes popped open in panic- were they ever found? Were they lucky enough to escape alive as well? Fear flooded him for the unknown man with him in the bunker, the need to know what exactly had happened-

_‘You’re too good for us, Stevie. You’ve got the purest soul I’ve ever seen…’_ That gave Steve pause, the odd comment making him chase down the memory once more. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought against the dull throbbing and sluggishness in his mind, trying to understand what had happened. It came back in flashes- _impossible blue eyes-_ they seemed to shine from within _\- a golden light-_ had it been coming from his body?- _a hand reaching out to him-_ where was he going- _beautiful black wings-_ it seemed impossible- _his Guardian Angel?_

Steve re-opened his eyes, breathing harshly. No, that couldn’t be right. It was crazy; he must be hallucinating, his brain still recovering from the trauma. And yet… an image of the gorgeous man came to mind, and it filled him with a sense of well-being and comfort that really made no sense at all. He had never seen the man before in his life, so why should he feel such an emptiness now that he was gone? It was something that went deeper than skin; Steve felt something off, something not right and lonely deep in his bones.

 

 _‘Get yourself together, Rogers.’_ The Army wouldn’t take him back if they knew he was hallucinating like this. Closing his eyes, he resolved to go to sleep, and try to put the mystery man/hallucination/dream out of his mind.

 

Yet even his sleep was plagued with visions of shining blue eyes and jet black feathers, and a voice crying out his name.

 

* * *

 

Claire had not been wrong- therapy was truly one of the most awful things Steve had ever encountered in his life. It was humiliating, to have to ask for help every time he needed to use the bathroom, to get help getting dressed and help eating. Steve, who had grown up weak and constantly ill, despised this trip down memory lane. He had been so thrilled when he discovered he was growing and gaining muscle, finally starting to look more like a man than a bag of bones. Puberty had definitely been kind to him, and fleetingly he regretting taking his newfound health for granted. He hadn't been this helpless in years, and it rankled him down to the very bones. The only bright spot was Claire, whose constant sarcasm and sharp tongue kept Steve from sinking completely into himself.

 

Steve’s speech had mostly recuperated by ten days in, and he spoked to all of the Commandos at some point over the phone. Every single one was ecstatic that he had woken up, and both Morita and Jones spent almost ten minutes each yelling at him for the ‘dumbass stunt’ that he pulled; he had chuckled tiredly at the familiarity of it. But without fail, the conversations would die out after a few minutes, seven years a long time to span a discussion, and excuses were made to end the calls. Steve didn’t call again.

 

He had to go to physical therapy every day, an hour session in the morning and another hour session in the afternoon. The sessions were filled with stretching, massages, and tiny exercises to increase muscle control. It had taken two weeks after Steve woke up to be able to walk around comfortably by himself, and it had taken a month before he was able to jog again. The first time he was able to pick up a pencil and sketch, in the beginning of October, he had been on the verge of tears- the drawing was shaky but legible, and it showed that not everything was lost. Slowly, but surely, Steve came back to his body, sheer stubbornness getting him through it more days than not.

 

Steve started weightlifting in early November, his body quickly regaining back the strength it had lost. Physically, he had been kept in remarkable shape, not losing too much muscle mass or weight. But his muscles needs to acclimate back into movement, and so Steve went to the gym for hours a day, increasing the speed on his treadmill and adding more weight until the doctors came and forcefully brought him back to his room.

 

By the time that Steve had been awake for four months, he could sketch again, run, lift as much weight as he had been able to, and had thoroughly gotten fed up with the in-patient rehabilitation center. Now that he was back to his previous health, he was itching to leave, to go back into the Army and have a real life again. He hadn't been given a day for his release, but from Clair's increasingly exasperated eye rolls at his constant pestering, he hoped it would be soon. He couldn't leave here soon enough.

 

His stay had been pleasant, all of the staff friendly and accommodating. They even brought in a representative of the Army to present Steve with his Purple Heart, which Steve had almost fainted at the sight of. He had even tried to hand it back, saying that he didn’t deserve it now that he was recovering, but the stern representative assured him that Steve had more than earned it. It now sat in his room, inside the drawer on the nightstand. He couldn’t stand to look at it.

 

However, he didn’t get to see much of the outside world, even after he was healthy enough to start working out. The staff insisted he complete his recovery to the fullest inside their walls, and he was free to do whatever he wished when he was discharged. It drove Steve crazy, and he yearned to go to the movies, or see new museum exhibits, to watch the news and see what he had missed. It made him feel disconnected, like he wasn’t real. Usually when his thoughts turned towards that direction he went to the weight room, working out until his limbs gave out.

 

Half way through December, his wishes were finally granted. A knock on the door caused him to look up from where he was sketching the view outside his window. Claire was there, with a black man that Steve didn't know. "Yo, Steve, I think your time's up," she said by way of greeting. Steve beamed, hopping off of the windowsill and dashing over to his closet, throwing things into bags.

 

" _Finally_. Not that I haven't enjoyed my time here- especially you, Claire- but I am climbing the walls in here." He zipped up one bag, and started on another, art supplies and clothes and shoes all packed away with military precision. Claire scoffed and shook her head, but her feelings showed in her soft smile.

 

"I'm Sam Wilson, by the way." The second voice made Steve look up, and he flushed slightly at the realization that he had completely ignored the man standing with Claire.

 

Steve stood up and walked over, offering a hand. "I'm Steve Rogers, nice to meet you. Sorry about that."

 

Sam grinned brightly, shaking his head as he returned the handshake. "Man, don't worry about it. I'd feel the same way after being cooped up in here for four months."

 

With another smile, Steve went back to packing his things up, and within ten minutes he had his discharge papers and all of his bags, and was standing in the lobby. He had been so eager to leave, and yet... he wasn't quite sure where he could go. Surely his old apartment had been sold off, and he didn't exactly have any friends he could just crash with out of the blue. Not to mention, it had been seven years since he had last been in the world- what had changed? Did people talk the same? Use different technology?

 

Sam instantly appeared at his side, seemingly feeling Steve's anxiety. "Hey, man, don't sweat it. I've been assigned your guide and friend to get you back out there." There was no judgement or pity in his warm gaze, and for that Steve was thankful. But he still inwardly bristled at the fact that he was still being given help to just live his life.

 

"Seems kind of pathetic that I have to be assigned a friend," Steve said dryly, earning a chuckle in response. It wasn't that he didn't like Sam, he was just... anxious, a little nervous, and more than a little embarrassed at the situation; Steve wasn't one to take charity.

 

"Well, I was kinda hoping we could get there anyway." The two shared a small grin, and Sam clasped a hand to Steve's shoulder to lead him outside. "Come on, I've got an extra room in my apartment that's just _screaming_ your name." Before Steve could voice his surprise or protests, a strong arm was propelling him out the door and into a waiting taxi.

 

The journey didn't take too long, especially considering how terrible the traffic was. The taxi pulled up to a small detached house, brick fronted with stylish wooden shutters and blinds. "Nice place," Steve whistled. There was even a bit of lawn space and a small porch, and it looked lived in and homey.

 

Sam shrugged, taking half of Steve's bags. "Used to be a family house, before my parents retired and beat it down to Georgia. Now I'm happy to call it home, especially 'cause there ain't no rent." Steve laughed, and decided that he was glad that Sam was here to help him.

 

The two settled into an easy rhythm, going on runs in the morning (with very vocal protests from Sam), eating breakfast together (Sam cooked, because he insisted that Steve couldn't cook anything without making it taste like socks), and then meeting back up after their daily activities for Netflix. Sam spent his days at the VA, and Steve immediately saw why he had been set up with Sam- an in home therapist. The thought irritated Steve for a few hours, before he cooled down, remembering that Sam had never pushed for Steve to talk, and that he never brought his work home with him. Besides, there was nothing Steve even needed to talk about.

 

He learned that Sam had served as well, only two tours before the death of his partner Riley sent him home packing. Sam had been at the VA ever since, helping vets deal with losses like he had experienced. They celebrated Christmas together, Sam dragging Steve down to Georgia to meet his extended family, and it was the most fun Steve could ever remember having- it was certainly the most that Sam had ever seen him smile. They got raucously drunk on New Year’s Eve (Steve welcoming the respite from the multiple desperate, lost, and angry thoughts that often cluttered his brain), commiserated over shoveling snow, and worked their way through all the hit TV shows on Netflix. Somewhere along the way, Sam became a true friend, much past the assigned one.

 

Steve spent his days between going to the gym, catching up on current events and media, and drawing and painting. It was... not unpleasant, and Steve was able to somewhat reinsert himself into society as he learned what had happened during his coma... but it wasn't enough. He was restless, and felt useless- he should be out there, helping people, _doing_ things. His days passed in a detached haze, Steve feeling as if he didn’t exist to the rest of the world. Some days were worse, and he couldn’t find the motivation to get out of bed. He needed to go back to the Army, but every time he brought it up, Sam got a pinched look on his face, and either smoothly changed the subject or counseled Steve that he "still needed more time to recover."

 

By the time February rolled around, Steve had had enough, and hailed a taxi to drive him over to the Army Recruitment Center. It was empty in there when he arrived, the late afternoon lull before closing. Walking up to the reception desk, he said, "Hello, I'm Steve Rogers? I'm here to talk to someone about re-enlisting."

 

The receptionist did a double take at his words, mouthing _‘Steve Rogers’_ to herself. Abruptly standing up, she saluted, saying, "It's an honor, sir. Thank you so much for what you've done."

 

Steve was at a loss, standing there gaping. He hadn't dealt with anyone from the actual armed forces since he'd woken up, his interactions limited to Sam, the rehab center staff, and various food industry workers. He hadn't realized that people would recognize him, much less _thank_ him. "Um... you're welcome? At ease. I just uh... I wanted to speak to someone?" he replied, much less certain now.

 

She blinked, before shaking her head slightly. "Yes, yes, of course. Follow me." She quickly led him down the hallway to their right, passing a few doors before opening one that said "Colonel Lafferty" on the plaque. She knocked three times on the door before poking her head in, saying, "Colonel? Lieutenant Steve Rogers is here to speak with you."

 

"Bring him in," a surprisingly light and friendly voice sounded from the room, and the receptionist ushered Steve in, closing the door and leaving behind him. Steve saluted the colonel as he walked in, and Lafferty waved it away gesturing for Steve to take a seat in the armchair across from him. Steve hesitantly sat, not sure where to begin, and there was silence for a minute in the room.

 

The colonel was the first to break it. “So, you wanna re-enlist, huh?”

 

Steve nodded, relieved. “Yes sir. I’ve been given a clean bill of health from the center, and for the past two months I’ve been readjusting to civilian life.” Eh, it was kind of a stretch, because Steve had mostly been moping and wishing for something to happen. But Steve needed to do this. “I’m ready to get back to work.”

 

The colonel studied him for a moment, his face unreadable. “Steve, have you gone to any therapy sessions?”

 

Blinking, Steve frowned. “No, sir. I don’t need them.”

 

“Hm.” The colonel sighed. “That’s what they all say, son.” He held up a hand to counteract Steve’s started protest. “Listen, I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with you, but you almost died, hell, you pretty much were dead for all intents and purposes. That’s gotta rattle some cages.” Lafferty waited for Steve to say something, but Steve had clamped his jaw shut on his automatic heated response.

 

Reaching into his desk, Lafferty pulled out a folder and a few brochures, sliding them along his desk. “Here’s some information on therapy centers and methods, I suggest you take a look.” Steve gave a curt nod. “But… son, I don’t want to give you false hope. I’m not sure the Army is gonna take you back.”

 

“What? Why not?” Steve demanded, struggling to keep his temper in check. He didn’t move to take the therapy info from the desk in front of him.

 

The colonel frowned. “You did your country, and the world, a great service, Rogers, and sacrificed everything. But not only have you not been psychologically cleared… the Army thinks that you’ve given enough, and should not spend more of your life there.”

 

Steve’s teeth audibly ground together. “With all due respect, sir, I think that’s my decision to make,” he grit out. The colonel didn’t understand; Steve _needed_ this, needed to feel useful again. He had done his time as a weak boy, and he had done his time fucking _sleeping_ \- anything worthwhile he had ever done was with the Army. What was he supposed to do, go back to art school?

 

Lafferty nodded. “Sure it is, but it’s the Army’s decision to take you, and I’m afraid it’s a no, son.” He at least had the air of being apologetic, and sat back in his chair. “Go home, get back to being a civilian, life your life to the fullest. You’ve already accomplished a great deal, more than most will in their whole lives. You’re still young- you’ve got the whole world ahead of you.”

 

Giving him a tight nod and barely restraining his glare, Steve stood up from his chair. “Thank you, sir,” he said stiffly, before turning and marching out the door (leaving the pamphlets behind) and out of the building. Steve didn’t bother calling for a taxi; he was too furious, and needed to burn off steam. He instead walked the five miles back to the house, hands shoved in his pockets and a fierce scowl. It was frigid outside, but Steve barely noticed with how hot his anger was burning.

 

He didn’t _want_ to go to therapy- he didn’t have panic attacks, or anything like that, he was perfectly fine. Sam would have made him go if he thought there was something wrong, and Sam had only ever dropped hints, or invited Steve along to group sessions (which he always turned down). As far as getting back to his life… Steve let out a harsh laugh. The Army had _been_ his life. Sure, he had enjoyed art school, but he had found his calling in the Army. How was he supposed to simply lie back and relax, get a regular job or go back to school, after all this had happened? It was impossible for him, and the thought made Steve’s anger fade out into something hollower and bleaker.

 

By the time he got back to the house, all he wanted to do was sleep for about a week.

 

If Sam knew about the visit, he didn’t say anything, merely keeping up a running commentary when Steve was less talkative than usual. Sam didn’t push when Steve declined his invites to places, and only a few times had to force Steve to come home from the gym. Steve saw nothing wrong with the arrangement, but Sam noticed. He started dropping more hints about coming to check out the VA, left the classifieds out on the table in the morning, started being more persistent with his invitations to nights out. None of it seemed to be working.

 

Eventually, Sam knew that Steve needed a push, so he reached out to an old Air Force buddy, Colonel James Rhodes. Sam hadn’t talked to the man in years, but he knew that he was now affiliated with Stark Industries, and Sam had a hunch that he could get in a favor for Steve.

 

That was why, a week later, Steve received a call from Tony Stark himself, basically ordering him up to New York to start an INternational Security detail for Stark Industries. Steve stammered out an acceptance, a genuine smile creeping onto his face for the first time in weeks. He hurriedly told Sam- who acted shocked and happy- who agreed to come and move into the Tower too (an arrangement he had made previously with Rhodes).

 

Sitting in a private helicopter, on his way to New York, Steve caught Sam’s eye and grinned at him, excited that he could finally have a job he was good at, to get out of the house and do something with his life. It was a perfect opportunity, and Steve was glad, he truly was. However… something still wasn’t quite right. He didn’t feel as if all of his problems were solved. Something in his mind poked at him, prodding and insistent, a feeling that he was… forgetting something, almost.

 

If Steve was finally getting back to doing what he knew best… why did he still feel as if something essential was still missing from him?

 

* * *

 

 

2013- May

 

Every member of her garrison shifted in their seats, wondering why Natasha had called all of them into their meeting room. Pietro had been pulled away from watching over Wanda as she flew to New York (she had finally gotten enough money together to enroll at NYU, and Pietro was bursting with happiness for his sister, ‘helping’ her get her visa), and Thor had just been about to go and visit Jane. But Natasha was grimly silent, and the tension in the room was palpable.

 

“So, I’m not sure how many of you know what exactly happened to Bucky?” Pietro and Bruce shook their heads, while Thor met Natasha’s gaze and winced. They had discussed it while Natasha had been teaching Thor to shield himself, and even though Thor had nothing to do with it, Natasha knew he still felt guilt over visiting Jane when Bucky had been Punished so.

 

Not nearly as much as Natasha, though. All of this could have been avoided, and Bucky would still be here- possibly even visiting Steve like he had wanted to- if she hadn’t been so selfish and shared her secrets with him. She had spent so long not trusting anyone, and now that she had people worth trusting, she had let them down.

 

She cleared her throat, pushing those thoughts away. “Steve’s team was attacking the head base camp for Hydra, intent on capturing Johann and shutting down the organization for good. When they got there, Johann was gone, and they found it full of bombs, along with a map of dozens of bases all around the world, rigged for massive explosions and maximum damage.” Pietro made a small sound, and Bruce’s frown grew deeper. “Steve ordered his team out and disarmed all of the bomb networks… save the bombs for the base he was in.” There was a pregnant pause. “Bucky appeared to Steve, to try and stop him, and was taken to Punishment. He was tortured for three months, before he Fell.”

 

“Oh my God,” Bruce muttered, putting his face in his hands. Pietro looked like he was on the verge of tears, and Natasha winced. Their auras were ugly tumults of red, pale green, and black.

 

Taking a breath (it was fortifying, in a placebo way), Natasha continued, “Steve was in a coma, not dead, because Bucky left some Grace in him long ago while healing him. That, and he most likely left some more in a desperate attempt to save Steve’s life. He woke up last year- about nine months, give or take- and has been acclimating back into civilian life. Or, he’s trying. I’ve been keeping an eye on him, and even though Tony brought him into the Tower, he’s not doing well, not at all.”

 

Thor raised his hand. “Not to be rude, but what can we do? We are not his Guardians, we will be stopped if we try to help him.” He grimaced apologetically, and Natasha didn’t doubt the kind-hearted Angel was shouldering the blame for Bucky’s fate just as she was.

 

“That’s why I called this meeting in secret,” Natasha replied. She leaned in, lowering her voice even though her Grace was shielding the whole room. “It’s been almost six years since Bucky Fell, and I have not seen or heard a thing- believe me, I’ve been looking.” Bruce’s eyes widened, but Natasha waved him off. “I have some contacts. But now… I think we’ve found him.” Three pairs of eyes snapped to her, three mouths fell open.

 

“We know where Bucky is, now we can help him.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: more serious depression, with some thoughts and discussion about suicide.

_In tatters,_

_broken fragments remain;_

_putting pieces back together_

_has never seemed so important._

 

2013- May

 

It turned out that by ‘international security,’ Tony had meant ‘special task force that intervened when governments didn’t want to, wouldn’t, or couldn’t.’ It was an ambitious task- the legality of it all itself was a monster, and it was only thanks to Tony’s perfectly put together and intelligent assistant and partner Pepper Potts that they didn’t all get arrested as soon as the group had formed. Steve had been put to work the day after they settled in, much to Sam’s exasperation (and Steve’s relief). Tony had even gotten Sam in on the action, designing him a pair of mechanical wings, similar to the prototypes Sam had tested out during his tours. Sam had been ecstatic upon receiving them, saying, “Not that I don’t like doing therapy, but _man_ it’ll be good to get out in the field again.”

 

Tony and Rhodey had organized the team, and when Sam and Steve had arrived, Tony had introduced them to member number five, Clint Barton. Steve liked Clint well enough- he was easy going and funny, and was almost hilariously casual about everything. That all changed the moment he had a gun or- even better- a bow and arrow in his hand, and then it was all power and accuracy and surprising agility. Steve had actually clapped the first time after watching Clint on the obstacle course, earning himself a blush, a scoff from Tony, and a lazy salute from Clint.

 

Steve had also met some of Tony’s lab team, led by Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis. Jane was mostly in charge of collecting data and using Tony’s billion dollar equipment to study physics and astrophysics, while Darcy was in charge of hardware, helping Tony invent new computers and gadgets constantly. Jane and Darcy were nice enough, though Steve never actively sought out their company. The two women impressed Steve and made him nervous, as women almost always did, especially brilliant women like them (and Ms. Potts).

 

At first energized by this new opportunity, Steve quickly threw himself into the thick of it. It turned out that Tony did indeed have a flying suit- multiple of them, in fact- and was currently testing it. That had earned a few moments of gaping from Steve, and so Tony had invited him down to the lab to demonstrate. It was like nothing Steve had ever seen before, and it still amazed him, no matter how many times he and Rhodey used them.

 

The training itself for Steve was old hat. It was nothing like the Army- no one was screaming at him to go faster or harder, and the hours weren’t brutal anymore. He spent his days reading up on new tactics and weapons, his mornings and evenings working out and sparring, and though he still didn’t feel like his old self it was almost a comfort to have a routine like this again. When he had admitted this to Sam, his friend had looked at him oddly, before smiling and agreeing with him.

 

Steve grew close with Sam and Clint, as they ended up together a lot, whether it was for missions, training, or just mandatory hang outs. It was one of those nights, all three men sitting around the living room on Sam’s floor, drinking and shooting the shit. Clint had just finished talking about his girl, a mysterious red head named Scarlet (of whom he had no pictures, since he ‘just never got around to taking any of the two of them together’). She worked for some shady government group, so she and her job were very secretive, often leaving Clint to pine over her and complain. Steve and Sam made the appropriate sympathetic noises; Sam almost certainly paying more attention than Steve was.

 

A pillow being thrown at him made Steve look up from his lap, brow furrowed in slight annoyance. “What about you, Steve, you got a girl hidden away somewhere?” Clint asked, taking a swallow of his beer. It was mostly facetious, seeing as everyone knew Steve rarely left the Tower except for missions- there wouldn’t even be any time for him to have been sneaking off with a girl, or anyone, for that matter.

 

Looking down at the bottle held loosely between his fingers, Steve smiled wryly, shrugging. “Nah, don’t really have the time.” It was a tired excuse, but no one could really dispute with it. Biting his lip nervously, but then deciding that it had to be said, he added, “I don’t have a guy hidden away, either, if you were wondering.” Clint immediately looked sheepish and focused his gaze on his lap, mumbling apologies, and Sam raised both his eyebrows, looking proud and amused. Meeting his eyes, Steve shrugged, playing with the label on beer. “It’s alright, you aren’t the first to just assume. I mean, not that you should, but it’s nothing I haven’t gotten before.”

 

Recovering quickly, Clint met Steve’s eyes once more. “Alright, so this warrants a story, Rogers.”

 

Raising his eyebrow, Steve asked, “A story? About what?”

 

Waving his hand, Clint replied, “I dunno… when did you figure it out? Were you out in school? Did your family approve? The normal stuff, I guess.” Sam turned and glared at him, and Clint raised his hands. “Sorry, I’m just curious. You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want,” he tacked on.

 

Chuckling a little, Steve leaned forward and placed his mostly-ignored bottle on the table in front of him. “No, I don’t mind. It’s just… been a while, I guess, and sometimes I forget how much more prevalent it is today.” Yet another thing he had mostly missed during his time asleep. Settling back into the couch, he tapped his fingers on his thighs, wondering where to begin. “I figured it out when I was almost 17. I had never had… well, let’s just say I wasn’t the most popular guy growing up. Real skinny, dorky, weak and always sick… didn’t have many friends, let alone significant others. But once I went off to art school, I started growing some, fit in better the way I was. It was only a matter of time.”

 

He paused, letting himself smirk a little. “I met this girl, Lorraine, at a house party. Nothing crazy, just a bunch of us art kids drinking cheap wine and bitching about today’s music. We hit it off quickly, and dated for a month or two. She graduated- she was two years older- and we broke it off. We’re still friends- or, we were….” He frowned, before shaking his head and resuming the story. “Well, it wasn’t too much later that I caught the interest of a guy named Sebastian- at that point, I guess my growth spurt had finally hit, so I looked- like this. At first, I was kind of stand-offish, you know, insisting that just because I was in art school didn’t mean I was gay. Well, another party, too much to drink, and… I’m pretty sure you can fill in the blanks.”

 

Steve smiled briefly at Sam and Clint’s snickers, a slight blush warming his cheeks. “So, that’s when I realized I was bisexual. Seb and I actually dated for almost six months, before we broke up because I was planning on entering the military- he was real against it. It wasn’t pretty, but it happened. And… then I didn’t really have anything meaningful before I went into the Army… and, well, you know what happened there.” He cleared his throat when he finished, a sudden melancholy drifting over him again. God, he hadn’t been with anyone since 2002… he hadn’t even stopped to consider that.

 

Sam’s laughter pulled him back to the present. “Man, that’s crazy. Your family alright with all of that?” Steve knew that Sam’s family all knew about Riley, and they all never cared a single bit.

 

Sighing, Steve murmured, “Well, as you know I lost my dad when I was five, and my mom when I was fifteen. So, there was no one really around to tell.” The mood immediately fell in the room, Clint wincing and Sam reaching over to gently squeeze Steve’s left shoulder. He gave them a small smile, trying to show that he was alright.

 

God, he didn’t think he’d even visited their graves since he’d woken up. What kind of awful son _was_ he? Who could’ve predicted how much seven years would change things.

 

“I think I’m gonna turn in, guys,” Steve excused himself, walking to the elevator that would take him to his floor. Once the doors closed he heaved a sigh, once again ruminating on all of the things he had missed out on and forgotten about for seven years, wondering if he would ever work up the desire or energy to try and fix any of it.

 

Some days were easier than others in pretending that it all didn’t bother him, but pretending was getting more and more difficult.

 

* * *

 

 

2013- August

 

Each mission became more and more risky, their small team going into more war torn areas, or attending government meetings with higher stakes. The more times the special task force pulled through, the more they were asked for or needed. It was running them into the ground some days, Sam more than the others since he had actively _left_ armed forces behind, though Steve welcomed the challenge. He needed to feel the exhaustion and soreness in his muscles to know that he was here, that he was present and alive and doing good in the world, to actually _feel_ something again.

 

Some days were better than others. Some days Steve felt like he was finally part of the world again, as if he was making a real difference and was actually _accomplishing_ something. Other days… he could barely get out of bed. It was like the weeks right after he woke up- everything that had once entertained him or he had enjoyed- art, music, museums- lost all appeal and faded into a numb disinterest. The only thing that mattered was work, because it was what spurred him into motion.

 

He hung out with Sam and Clint when they invited him, drinking quietly at their table or on their couch, watching them chatter away or play video games. He felt… detached from them, somehow, without any real connections, as if he didn’t truly belong here. The only lasting friends he had made in the Commandos had faded away, the connections lost through almost a decade apart and an unsteady base outside of combat. He never said anything to his new team, never declined an invitation, not even to any of Tony’s parties. Steve had tried, at first, but the _look_ that Sam had given him- one of concern and anxiety and a certain level of professional scrutiny- made Steve squirm and fidget and accept anyway.

 

Sam was one of the few constants in Steve’s life at this point- he was constantly checking in on Steve, trying to entertain him or showing him some obscure thing or event he had missed while being in his coma. This often just frustrated Steve, anger at himself for missing the time, but he tried to show interest to Sam, making the appropriate noises over whatever the hell Tamagotchis were. Steve could admit that Sam was his best friend, one of his few friends at all, and though he more than welcomed Sam’s help- he had been nothing but kind to Steve in the year since he’d woken up- Steve sometimes wished for more privacy and solitude. It was times like that that he was grateful for the totally over the top, unnecessarily big _floor_ he had to himself.

 

No one had to know how little he slept, or how hard it was to remember to eat regularly. In the privacy of his own apartment, Steve was free to slink around, not worrying about putting on a front. He didn’t think anything was _wrong_ with him- he was allowed to feel sad about what had happened to him, or feel exhausted all the time with the amount that he worked. Somedays would pass by in a blue, or not at all, and he would find himself sitting motionless on the couch, an untouched meal and cold coffee still on the table hours later. The pointed questions about therapy had stopped, which was all that Steve had wanted- so many people had it so much worse than him, and he didn’t need special treatment.

 

So he kept working, kept pushing himself to the limit in sparring and on missions, never taking a sick day or too many days off for an injury. Of those there were plenty, as he had fallen into his old role as leader, and took it upon himself to protect everyone else less suited to the fighting, when it did break out. Steve was often the only one on mission to come home injured, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to care. Even the fiery burn of injustice didn’t truly motivate him anymore- it was more a manner of using this time like he knew he should, not taking things for granted, not _having_ anything else to do. It had started as trying to find his passion, and devolved into finding something to keep him going day after day. It seemed that his work was the only thing motivating him to do anything other than lie down and let life pass by.

 

The only time he managed a sliver of anything was during a mission, when the adrenaline made him feel anything other than the gray and cold spaces between. It was a strange feeling. It felt like a light or a warmth- one that had always pushed and inspired him growing up to fight for what he believed in and told him to keep on fighting no matter what- and just been… extinguished. Removed. An empty, sucking hole where his drive and strength used to come from, leaving him feeling aimless and, more often than not, displaced and useless. His ma… she would be disappointed in what he had become. She had always used to call him her little fire brand, her personal ray of sun and warmth.

 

With each mission, Steve grew more and more cold and uninterested inside, wondering why he still felt so scraped raw and hollow even after he had back the one thing that he had always thought made him happy.

 

* * *

 

2013- November

 

On a mission in China, what was supposed to be a peaceful treaty negotiation over cultural property turned into a fire fight. Steve, who was assigned to protect the Chinese ambassador, took three bullets to the back trying to evacuate further civilians. When questioned about it by Rhodey, who asked why he didn’t just leave with the ambassador, Steve simply replied, “Didn’t feel right to leave people behind.”

 

Two weeks later, he was released again for light duty, the doctors amazed at his strangely fast healing.

 

In late December, Steve was brought on a mission with Clint to stake out a terrorist base that could possibly be remnants of Hydra. Their intel turned out to be correct, and apparently Hydra knew that they were coming, as their jeep was shout out and attacked as soon as they got into view of the base. He threw Clint under the car and took on the task force alone, earning himself a deep gash to the stomach and a broken ankle. Clint brought him home, furiously chewing him out, and Steve responded blankly, “I saved your life, didn’t I?” He couldn’t risk a teammate, not when he knew that Clint’s life was definitely worth more than his own at this point- he had a purpose, someone to care about, and true friends.

 

Sam came to visit him in the hospital, gently asking if Steve wanted to look into retiring until he got his head back on straight. Steve, staring at Sam with wide yet unreadable eyes, shook his head and said, “I have to do this, Sam,” and wouldn’t say another word. The way that Sam was able to see right into Steve, catching a glimpse of that emptiness, made Steve want to push Sam away until he wouldn’t come back.

 

Nearing the end of January, Steve insisted he was fine to work again, his limp barely noticeable.

 

In February, Tony and Sam flew out on a chopper with Steve, each not wanting him to be alone, to investigate a possible smuggling operation in Colombia. Before they could land, J.A.R.V.I.S. reported missiles locking onto their aircraft, so Tony in his suit and Sam with his wings jumped out of the helicopter, Sam carrying Steve. However, it was soon obvious that Sam was too slow to avoid any missiles while carrying Steve, so as soon as they were close enough to the buildings they had been trying to surveil, Steve let go of Sam, plummeting thirty feet down to the roof.

 

Sam and Tony were able to immediately land and fight off the criminals that were streaming out of the building- shutting down the operation- but Steve was unconscious, and remained that way for three days.

 

As they took turns visiting him in the hospital, Steve’s team continued to get more and more concerned, each wondering if the next mission would be the last. They came together to discuss it, and each person had noticed individual occurrences and signs. Together they decided that a close eye needed to be kept on their friend, before something ‘unfixable’ happened.

 

Sam was with Steve in the hospital when he woke up. It was about two in the morning, and Sam startled out of his doze (dropping his phone) as he heard a sharp gasp and the heart monitor speeding up. Squinting in the dim room, Sam could make up Steve pushing himself up to a sitting position, head turning this way and that. The heart monitor continued to speed up, and Sam could now hear Steve’s labored breathing from his spot across the room.

 

He immediately slid over to the bed, reaching out to put a hand on Steve’s arm. “Hey, hey, Steve, calm down. You’re in the hospital-”

 

“How long?” Steve’s desperate voice cut Sam off, throat raspy and dry.

 

Sam furrowed his brow. “Huh?”

 

Steve gripped Sam’s arm now, fingers digging in almost painfully. “How long was I out?” he demanded, breath still coming in short, harsh pants. Sam’s eyes had adjusted enough to the dark to see how wide Steve’s were, panic and terror shining through.

 

Putting on his smooth ‘therapist voice’, Sam replied, “Steve, I need you to relax. It’s only been a few days-”

 

But Steve seemed incapable of listening, hands releasing Sam’s arm to reach up and dig into his hair. He let out a short whimper, eyes darting side to side, maybe seeing things that weren’t there. “Oh God, oh God, not again, not again _please_ I can’t do this again-”

 

Sam’s heart broke for his friend, realizing Steve was probably falling into a panic attack, the experience of waking up in a hospital room triggering memories of the last time. Before he could react, Steve yanked out his IVs and his nose cannula, swinging his feet over the opposite side of the bed.

 

“Hey, hey woah there big guy, don’t wanna do that-” Sam cursed loudly, rounding the bed to go after Steve. But the blonde only made it a few steps, muscles still weak and discombobulated, and he collapsed against the wall, sliding down to sit on the ground. Steve pulled his knees up to his chest, gritting his teeth and grinding his fists into his eyes. Sam could see that he was shaking all over, and his breathing now sounded more like sobs than plain gasps for air. Gently, quietly, he sat down next to Steve, his hand rubbing soothing circles on his friends back.

 

Wanting to ground Steve in the present, Sam kept talking, his voice smooth and quiet. “Steve, the year is 2015. It’s late March, and you were asleep for only three days. You and your dumbass let go of me, falling three stories to a rooftop, to try and lessen my weight load so I could fly faster. You’re having a panic attack, so I need you to breathe for me, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Count your breaths, and when you get to fifty, see if you can talk.”

 

Though he didn’t say anything, merely flattening out his hands to cover his face, Steve managed to take a few deep gulps of air. Eventually he was able to get into a rhythm, Sam counting lowly for him just in case. At fifty, Steve let out a full body shudder, head and hands dropping down to his knees. The two sat in silence for almost five minutes, interrupted only by a worried nurse who Sam waved away, before Steve rasped, “Thank you.” Sam hummed, hand still rubbing Steve’s back.

 

“Any time. Wanna talk about that?” Sam prompted, hoping that this would be enough to push Steve into some sort of therapy, even if it was just talking to Sam. But Steve shook his head, and Sam sighed, feeling foolish to think that Steve would continue to be anything but stubborn. But Sam was patient, merely saying, “Well, I’ll wait here until you’re ready.” It was followed by ten more minutes of silence, where Sam was, in fact, getting a bit antsy.

 

Steve spoke abruptly, hands still covering his face. “You know, I see him, in my dreams.” Sam didn’t reply to the non sequitor, waiting for Steve to elaborate. “My- my Guardian Angel. Or, at least, that was what he said. He was there, in the last thirty seconds before the bunker exploded,” he let out a croaking laugh, “or, at least my hallucination was. But now, I can’t get it out of my head. Every night, I see bits and pieces of him- blue eyes, black wings, this white light….” Steve let out a groan. “I’m going crazy, I know it.”

 

“Look, Steve, I know it sounds strange, but… have you ever thought that maybe it wasn’t just a hallucination?” Sam’s voice was gentle, and his hand came up to rest on Steve’s upper back. He didn’t want to completely disregard or discourage Steve, so he picked his words carefully.

 

Finally lifting his head from his hands, Steve turned to stare incredulously. “What?”

 

Sighing, Sam shrugged his left shoulder. “I’m saying… people have been telling stories about ghosts and… and seeing Angels and stuff… for _years_ ,” he began, treading gently. “so some of them must have some credence; there’s so many accounts of it.”

 

Steve was eyeing him suspiciously. “So, you’re telling me that there’s a possibility that my ‘Guardian Angel’ was real?” He snorted, looking down at his fingers as he twisted them together. “Sounds like you’re encouraging delusions. Trying to get me carted away?” His tone wasn’t accusing, but it was dry and brittle, as if he half believed it was necessary.

 

“No, that’s not what I’m doing,” Sam retorted, shaking his head. “I’m trying to tell you that… that if what you saw, or think you saw, helps you with dealing with such a traumatic event, then it’s not hurting anyone.”

 

Leaning his head back against the wall, looking exhausted and worn much past his 29 years, Steve scoffed. “Yea, except me. Letting myself believe some… supernatural force saved my life, saved me from my own stupidity.”

 

This was the most open Sam had seen Steve in months, so he picked his words carefully. “It wasn’t stupid, what you did, Steve. It was brave-”

 

“Many people would argue that it’s the same thing.” Steve interjected tiredly.

 

“-and, you know, no one has _dis_ proved the existence of Angels.” Sam finished, giving Steve a gentle nudge. “‘Once you eliminate the impossible’, and all that.” That drew a small chuckled out of Steve, and Sam grinned at him. “I’m just saying… don’t invalidate it completely.” Sam wanted to press the issue while it was fresh- Steve so obviously needed therapy or possibly medication- but in the end decided rest was more important for Steve right now. “Now come on, man, back into bed. You’ll never get released if you don’t follow the rules,” he ordered.

 

Steve rolled his eyes but stood up, by himself yet only slightly shakily, and Sam once again marveled (and wondered about) his friend’s seemingly remarkable healing. As Sam led Steve back to bed, turned off the lights, and settled back into the chair, Sam only worried about his friend, and hoped that they would find something- or someone- to bring Steve back to the life he deserved. Before it was too late.

 

* * *

 

2014- March

 

Sitting in his apartment, eyes staring unfocused at the book in his lap, Steve was recounting the mission he had just come back from. The plane that he and Rhodey were in had been on its way to rescue hostages from a previous-but-now-mostly-empty war zone in Iraq when two enemy planes had appeared out of nowhere, surrounding them. Rhodey, who had been borrowing one of Tony’s suits, had started barking orders to the pilot about evasive maneuvers and emergency landings. The pilot had been obviously terrified, arguing back that the plane had to turn around _now_.

 

Looking out the window, Steve had replied, “Rhodes, we should just disembark now, let the pilot leave for safety.”

 

“What are you talking about Rogers, we only have the one suit, and I- _SHIT!_ ” Seeing his chance in a reservoir below, Steve had roughly opened the door of their small ‘incognito’ plane, leaping out and falling 100 feet to slice into the water. Still cursing furiously, Rhodey had donned the suit and flown after Steve, fully expecting to find a dead man below. But Steve had been fine, and they had been able to get close enough to find the hostages and call for a ride back.

 

Steve hadn’t thought anything of it- he was unharmed, the mission was a success- but Rhodey had berated him for an hour once they returned, Sam joining in near the end. They had called him irresponsible and reckless, words he had heard plenty of times before, but as the conversation trailed off, and Steve had yet to do anything beyond respond blandly to their incredulous voices, their tactic had changed. Their voices had become softer, and they shared looks more often, and Sam, strangely, asked Steve about therapy once more. Steve had simply raised an eyebrow, saying, “I’m fine,” before waving them away.

 

He had been alone for a few hours since then, trying (and failing) to read his book, one that he couldn’t even remember the name of. But out of the blue, the elevator in the hall _ding_ ed, and Tony walked out, seeming to have worked himself into a fit. His eyes were wide and his mouth was thinned, and as he came up to Steve on the couch, he stared at the blonde for a few moments before talking. “I heard about what happened on the mission.”

 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, we managed to track down the hostages and-”

 

Tony shook his head, cutting him off. “What I wanna know is why you had to go about it like that?” he said pointedly, narrowing his eyes at Steve, fidgeting.

 

“I don’t-”

 

“Listen, Steve,” and Tony was talking again, pressing forward like a train, and about as subtly. nervous energy pouring into his words. “This whole… thing,” he waved his arms, “with the airplanes and the high buildings and the no parachutes… it’s gotta stop.” He looked distressed, or as distressed as Tony ever let himself look- a slight thinning of the lips, a tick in the cheek, a more focused gleam in the eye. It took a smart man to decode Tony Stark, but Steve was learning. All Tony received was a blank stare, a raised brow the only indication that Steve had even heard the engineer.

 

Snorting, moving his arm in such an abrupt, aborted gesture that coffee sloshed dangerously close to the rim of his mug, Tony ran his free hand through his hair. “Look… some of the others- the team- _we_ \- are… worried about you. Especially Sam. He seems to think that you…” Tony paused, eyes flicking to Steve’s before bouncing away again, an uncomfortable moment of understanding and aching and sympathy that sent a shudder through Steve’s shoulders. “He’s concerned that you’re borderline suicidal.”

 

At that Steve blinked, the first outward sign of acknowledgement he’d shown the entire conversation. He worked hard at his missions, threw everything he had into them to make sure the team met their goals. They had s 100% success rate because Steve lived and _breathed_ his job, and Steve’s entire life had come to revolving around the next mission. Yet Sam, his team, thought that he wanted to kill himself? The thought was like a vine, small at first, but insidious, growing and creeping and strangling by the moment. So that’s what had had the team on edge since he woke up from the coma- it made sense now. Only…

 

“I’m not trying to kill myself,” Steve automatically denied, standing up from the couch to use his height over Tony. But his mind was already following the dark vine of thought, treacherously reminding him that there was, in fact, no reason for his survival; it had nothing to do with him. It had started to creep into his dreams- nightmares, really- and he stayed awake now as much as he could, welcoming the blissful nothingness he could sink himself into. He rarely allowed himself to dwell on his accident, and it was for this reason- this spiraling sense of loss and failure (combined with a flash of black feathers, which was ridiculous- that may have well been entirely a hallucination). Swallowing down the rise of anger and despair, he focused back on the conversation.

 

Again Tony made eye contact for only a split second, fingers tapping restlessly against his now half-empty mug of no-doubt cold coffee. And again, Steve was struck by the honesty and distress that Tony had bared on his face, the most open Steve had ever seen the smaller man. “Yea, well, it doesn’t have to be ‘trying’,” Tony muttered. He seemed to war with himself a second, jaw clenching and unclenching, before he spoke again. Steve opened his mouth to- to something, to deny the accusation, or maybe to yell at Tony, but he fell silent again at Tony’s words. “After Afghanistan, I was in a bad place, but I pushed through it, kept working. But it was always there, getting worse. I hardly slept, starting having panic attacks.” His sentences were short and choppy, as if he was forcing the words out of himself, raking himself over to coals to bare himself to Steve.

 

Steve frowned, reaching out a hand automatically to comfort Tony, but Tony batted it away. If he had known, maybe he would’ve been able to help. Steve considered Tony a friend of his now, and the fact that Tony had sunk so low without anyone helping… it was disconcerting. Steve, if he had been awake or known Tony, would have been there for him, wouldn’t he?

 

Or… maybe not. If the whole team thought Steve was trying to off himself, they wouldn’t have wanted him around an already-volatile Tony. _‘Two suicidal maniacs make for an unhappy team indeed,’_ he thought bitterly.

 

“I did a lot of crazy things during that time, almost got myself killed on several occasions. Part of the reason I threw myself headfirst into developing the company, you know?” He waved a hand, as if the continued invention of worldwide clean energy, health technology, and security meant little to him. “And, uh… it took Pepper to make me realize what I was doing. She called it ‘extreme carelessness,’ I think.” Looking down at the ground, Tony seemed to gather himself, and when he looked back up, he was slightly more together, less of his feelings streaming through the huge gaps in his persona. “You’re doing the same thing. We need you around. So… please. Use my high-tech parachutes, they’re not just for decoration.”

 

With that Tony walked out with a purposeful stride, hand still clutched around his coffee mug like a life line. Steve glared after him, fists clenched. He wasn’t angry at them, per se. He knew that their concern came from a good place, and that they were just worrying about him. But it needled at him, made him see red, that there was a reason that his teammates were concerned at all. Steve loathed appearing useless or weak; that was why he had thrown himself headfirst into Tony and Rhodey’s program, to prove that he was still useful to the world. The fact that his teammates had noticed was… far from ideal. Steve, of all people, shouldn’t be taking his own life for granted like this.

 

 _‘Maybe you’re angry because it hits too close to home. Tony_ does _have experience in this area,’_ a treacherous thought whispered, and Steve shook his head as if he could physically dispel it. Just because Tony was projecting onto him, didn’t mean that _Steve_ needed their help.

 

Sitting back down with a huff, Steve crossed his arms, too vexed to continue whatever it was that he had been doing (did he even do anything worthwhile outside of missions anymore?). His team was being ludicrous, and if they tried to stop him from working because of a little concern, then there was going to be a problem on their hands. With that thought he immediately stood up again, stalking to the elevator and travelling down to the gym. He planned to beat on the punching bags until the clamor in his head stopped or he broke his hands.

 

* * *

 

2014- April

 

Steve was walking back home alone from lunch, a practice he hadn't lost even though he now lived in a tower full of people, many of which he considered friends. Or, at least, acquaintances. The day was warm but with a cool breeze, spring finally showing its head after a freezing winter, and the sidewalks were full of people on their lunch break. It wasn't calming, per se, but Steve was able to get some time to himself this way, to let his shoulders slump out of their strong position and let his mind go blissfully, _achingly_ blank.

 

Sudden screams and shouts of panic assaulted Steve's ears, and he whipped around, ingrained instincts causing him to survey around himself and catalogue damage and threats. He didn't see anything on his first sweep, but as his eyes began to track the block around him again, he saw a figure coming towards him, walking down the middle of the street. He could see the shiny glint of a large knife in the figure's one hand, the other arm apparently missing. Whoever it was was dressed in all black, stalking down the street in what could only be described as a predatory way. People scattered as the man single-mindedly marched down the street, the sight of the blade and the purposeful stride sending civilians running.

 

Steve narrowed his eyes, wishing he had more than his emergency Glock hidden under his jacket. Whoever this was, one armed or not, walked as if his whole body was a weapon- strung high and tight, every muscle tensed for action. It meant danger, especially if he was coming towards Steve- Tony and his group had made plenty of enemies in the past six months. Shifting his feet into a more defensive position, Steve called out, "Stop right there. Put the knife down, or I will be forced to subdue you."

 

The man- he was close enough now for Steve to make out a pale face covered by scruff and surrounded by a curtain of brown hair- paused, tilting his head as if the sound of Steve's voice had confused him. With a visible shake, the man began to stride forward once more, flipping the knife skillfully around his fingers. Steve grit his teeth and pulled out his gun, the sight of it causing any remaining pedestrians to quickly leave. "I said stop," Steve ordered, not quite aiming the muzzle of the gun at the other man yet.

 

At about twenty feet away the man paused, eyes raking over Steve. Steve froze, mind and heart skipping a beat as he met cold, ice-blue eyes. There was no direct memory tied to them, no person he could remember with eyes quite that piercing, and yet... a hollow place somewhere below his lungs seemed to quiver, reaching out, trying to tell him something about those eyes. It was as if he was seeing double, seeing them in broad daylight and, overlaid, in a dream or a deep memory, with red flashing-

 

In Steve's momentary distraction, the man had advanced even closer, knife poised threateningly. Shaking his head roughly, Steve raised his gun, unsure of what this man was capable of. "Last chance to lay down your weapon and come with me, or I'll have to make you." So Steve wasn't an _actual_ cop- he still got his point across.

 

Or maybe not.

 

Faster than thought, the other man lashed out, catching Steve's ribs with the knife, drawing blood. He danced out of reach again as Steve hissed, pressing a hand to the sluggishly bleeding gash. Raising his gun, he tracked the other man. "I'm going to shoot," Steve said, still unwilling to simply put this man down without more information. Even if he _had_ just injured Steve.

 

But it seemed that the man in black had no intention of being brought in. He attacked Steve again, knife flashing in and out of the sunlight as he wielded it quicker than lightning. It was all Steve could do to block the multiple attacks, the blade still reaching his arms and chest occasionally, thankfully nothing more than small glancing blows. Steve gasped for breath as he fought, his gun worthless as he had to focus all of his energy on defending himself from the blows of his attacker. Steve was no amateur fighter, yet this man was stronger and faster than anyone Steve had ever faced off against or even seen.

 

Eventually Steve landed a lucky blow, one that sent both his gun and the large carving knife out of their hands and skittering down the street. The other man let out a growl, curling his hand into a fist. Wiping off his face where a wild elbow had clocked him in the nose and caused it to bleed, Steve tried to catch his breath. The other man didn't give him any time, launching himself at Steve once more, legs flying in complicated kicks to make up for only being able to punch with one arm. It was more difficult that Steve thought it would be to get a hold of the man, as any time Steve gained the upper hand the other man would flail and kick and squirm so harshly that Steve wouldn’t have a chance to properly subdue him before the man was breaking free,

 

They only fought for a few more minutes, Steve taking many more blows than he managed to land. He felt his nose break and something in his wrist snap throughout the course of the brawl, and one kick hit Steve so hard he lost his breath, and would be unsurprised if a rib or two were cracked. The man was obviously well trained, as he didn't utter one sound of effort or hurt, only frustrated hisses when Steve managed to block a hit of his. Steve wasn’t sure how much longer he could fight this way, and hoped that Tony, or at least the news, had seen what was happening so that he could get some back up.

 

By the time Clint and Sam roared up in one of Tony's mission vehicles, Steve was barely holding his own, blood blinding him from a cut on his eyebrow and legs shaking. The other man took one look at Steve's reinforcements, took one last look at Steve, and fled, disappearing in the chaotic huddle of civilians and the sprawl of the city alleyways. Those eyes met Steve's one last time, and Steve shuddered, because something deep within him reacted viscerally to that icy stare, even though he was sure... he couldn't have... he would have remembered meeting someone like that before.

 

Groaning, Steve sunk to the ground, head too full of broken maybe-memories (and throbbing from the beating he had taken), his body a screaming protest of broken bones and bruises. "Why didn't you call for back up?" Clint huffed, immediately leaning down to help Steve back up off the asphalt.

 

 _‘Didn't think it was important enough, it's just me, not worth the trouble_.’ But no, remarks and thoughts like that would only increase his team’s worry for him. Instead, Steve replied, "I had ‘im on the ropes…." Clint scoffed, passing Steve off to Sam so that he could go and talk to the police that also shown up at the scene. Sliding gingerly into the back seat, Steve groaned again, leaning heavily against the door next to him.

 

"You alright, buddy? Looks like you took quite a beating," Sam asked from the front passenger seat.

 

Steve nodded gently, not opening his eyes to look at his friend. "Yea. The guy was walking down the middle of the street, waving a knife everywhere and scaring civilians. Told him to stop, and he didn't seem to like that, so then he proceeded to beat me into the ground." The wry tone he was going for didn't quite make it, the words instead calm and resigned, as if he would have been perfectly fine being beaten to death. Sam frowned, hearing the bone-deep exhaustion (from more than just the fight) in Steve's voice, but decided to leave it for later.

 

As soon as Clint was finished giving his report to the police, with a promise of a statement from Steve at a later date, he climbed back in the driver's seat, and the three returned to the Tower. Waving off any more help after he was forced to take specially made ‘Tony painkillers,’ Steve took the elevator up to his floor, limping into his bathroom to take a shower. He winced at the sight of all of the bruises that were already appearing, and let out a few involuntary grunts as the process of undressing pulled at several of his injuries. He would go to medical… eventually….

 

By the time he was finished with his shower, he was exhausted, and just wanted to sleep for a day or four. Steve walked back into his room, throwing on underwear and a pair of sweats, toweling off his head. Just as he was about to ask J.A.R.V.I.S to turn off the lights, a pointed cough sounded from behind him, and he whirled around, heart rate increasing rapidly.

 

Instantly, where a second ago there had been no one, there stood a petite red head. She was inhumanly beautiful, with flawless skin and shining hair, but the way she held herself suggested danger in every tensed muscle and minute shift. And yet… there was something off about her. She was _too_ perfect, _too_ striking…. After a moment more of staring, Steve determined that no, it wasn’t just porcelain skin, there was indeed a slight white-gold glow emanating from her. He immediately stiffened and took a step back, mind flashing back to the (possibly a hallucination) man from the bunker. “Who- what-” Steve stammered, locked between relief that he maybe _hadn’t_ been hallucinating all this time, and fear that something else horrible was about to happen to him.

 

“Shh….” the woman murmured, and just like that, a calm flowed over Steve, slowing his racing heart and soothing his mind. It felt warm and natural, and that was what scared Steve the most- it wasn’t him that was feeling it. ‘ _It would be so easy to give in, though….’_

 

Steve took a deep breath and didn’t allow himself to get comfortable. “Who are you, and what do you want?” He crossed his arms, trying to look intimidating even with his injuries, but the woman was clearly unimpressed.

 

Raising an eyebrow, she said, “I’m here to talk to you about the one-armed man who nearly killed you today.” Her voice was rough and husky, the perfect timbre for frightening someone or seducing them.

 

But Steve wasn’t paying attention to that; he couldn’t help it- his jaw dropped. “How do you know about that?” he asked. Taking a step closer, he demanded again, “Who are you?”

 

The woman simply looked slightly up at him, due to the closer proximity, and said flatly, “My name is Natasha. I’m an Angel.”

 

Steve was immediately thrown back into hazy and scattered memories, ones of blue eyes and black wings and a clear deep voice and explosions and- Roughly shaking his head, Steve let out a sharp exhale and reopened his eyes. “An Angel? Really? How am I supposed to believe that?” His voice sounded stronger than he actually was. It was one thing to hallucinate a Guardian Angel in the middle of a life-or-death situation, but it was quite another to see one in his own bedroom. Maybe Tony’s painkillers had some side effects….

 

Any doubts Steve had were immediately crushed as Natasha began to glow brighter and brighter, the white light almost painful to Steve’s eyes, and he saw… not a person, behind her skin, but shifting movement, endless whirling of a pure light, a substance roiling away and shining so bright…. As soon as it had started, it was over, leaving Steve blinking spots and shadows shaped like wings from his vision.

 

He stared at Natasha with open awe now, taking two steps backwards, stammering, “Holy shit. I mean- uh- fuck, sorry, I’ve never met an Angel before, I-”

 

“Actually, you have,” Natasha interrupted, an emotion flickering over her face too fast for Steve to discern, the first thing other than blankness she’d shown the whole conversation.

 

Steve’s eyes widened. “You mean…”

 

Natasha nodded. “Yes. The man you saw in the bunker- at least, I’m assuming that’s what happened, I wasn’t there- was an Angel. _Your_ Angel, in fact. His name is Bucky.” She studied him, as if she was waiting for an answer to a question she had.

 

“Bucky….” Steve whispered, the name sounding right and synonymous with the wings and eyes he saw every night in his dreams. The emptiness he had felt since he had woken up shifted, as if something in his subconscious was reacting to something he didn’t even know. “He was real?” Natasha nodded. “Well, where is he now? I haven’t seen him since the… since then,” he finished lamely, clearing his throat. Steve wasn’t sure whether he felt hurt that his own Guardian Angel didn’t want to see him, or relief that he didn’t have to deal with any more crazy in his life. He was leaning towards the former.

 

At that, Natasha winced, eyes flicking down to the floor. “You met him, again, this afternoon.”

 

Steve furrowed his brow, ignoring the horrible creeping feeling in his chest. “I don’t understand.”

 

She took a deep breath- though Steve noted that she didn’t seem to be actively breathing, as this was the only time her ribs moved- and looked back up at Steve. “The man who attacked you- that was Bucky.”

 

“ _What_? How is that even possi- why would he- I thought he was-”

 

Natasha held up a hand, cutting off Steve’s sputtering. “Look. I can tell you the whole story, but you need to promise me no interrupting. Got it?” Steve nodded, mind already racing with possibilities. Natasha frowned, like she didn’t quite believe him, but continued speaking anyway.

 

“Bucky appeared to you on the day of the explosion in a last ditch effort to save your life. For that, he was Punished severely, as that is the number one rule in Heaven: the humans must not see you.” Her mouth twisted bitterly, and Steve immediately felt for her, in some odd way. “We aren’t supposed to show ourselves to any humans, especially our charges. So, Bucky was tortured for three months, and then made to Fall, stripped of his wings and Grace, effectively making him human.”

 

The matter-of-fact way she talked about this shocked Steve, and he felt slightly sick to his stomach. Tortured for _three months_? What kind of place was Heaven if things were run like that? Steve opened his mouth to ask _Why?_ but quickly shut it again at Natasha’s glare.

 

“We- and by we, I mean his garrison- have not seen him for nine years. For an Angel, that’s a blink of an eye, but we still miss him. We knew what had happened to him, but we had to be careful with what we did and how we did it, because we’re almost always being watched. But we just found him last year, and have been tracking him since then, trying to help him when we can. That was how we led him to you.” She broke off, chewing at her lip, a strangely human gesture. “We thought that maybe… if he saw you, his charge, then he might… remember. Maybe not being an Angel, but remember enough to get himself back together. He hasn’t been quite right since he Fell- it was an enormous injury, psychologically and physically- and he attacked you instead. Sorry,” she added dryly, throwing him a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 

Steve was dumbfounded, just standing there, slack-jawed. Bucky had done that; he had tried to save Steve’s life, been tortured and kicked out of Heaven for it, and now couldn’t even remember himself? All for _him_? “I… he did all that for me?” he asked weakly.

 

The look on Natasha’s face softened. “You’re special, Steve. Bucky loved you, very much.”

 

Steve swallowed hard. Now he felt even sicker. “What’s gonna happen to him?” he practically whispered.

 

Natasha shrugged, eyebrows furrowing. “I’m not sure. It took me a while to catch wind of him, as he’s not like normal humans. Bucky doesn’t have any powers or Angelic gifts, not anymore, but there’s still lingering traces that make it hard to find him. Plus, I’m sure the bastards in Punishment wanted to make his new life as difficult as possible.” Her face was mostly unchanged except for a slight curl of her lip. “Our best bet to get him back to some semblance of normal is you- you’re all he has left. It’s obvious that he at least recognized you, even if the reaction was a negative one rather than positive. If we can get him to at least remember you correctly, it could form a crack in his mind, allowing other memories to come back. Maybe not all of the millennia of being an Angel, but… maybe even just his friends.” Steve winced at the grief she let show in her voice, though she kept her face and stance strong.

 

This was all lunacy, it really was. Team up with an Angel in order to restore the memory of Steve’s own Angel-turned-human, who had just beat Steve almost to death? When had Steve’s life turned into this? Steve should just take more painkillers, go to sleep, and complain to Tony about hallucinogenic side effects. But the hopeful look on Natasha’s face, the incessant snatches of Bucky that Steve saw in his dreams, the feeling deep inside of him that twisted and reared its head at the thought of his own Guardian Angel…. Since when had Steve ever done what he _should_?

 

Besides, how could he explain to his teammates what he was about to do? If they would even believe him, there was no guarantee that they would agree to let him go after someone who had just beat the shit out of him (Sam was protective that way, and Clint had an excellent bullshit meter). Steve didn’t think that he could put into words what he was feeling: how this was the most fired up he’d been since he woke up, how he finally felt like he had a true purpose, how he felt _alive_ again for the first time in… well, in eight years.

 

“Just tell me what to do,” Steve declared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	10. Chapter 10

_He is love,_

_pure and unblemished,_

_and he fights to the very last breath._

_He will do anything_

_for those that he loves;_

_God help those who dare to threaten them._

 

2014- April

 

"Team, assemble in the common floor living room," Steve had J.A.R.V.I.S. announce the following day. He was already in the room, pacing its perimeter. The sleep he had gotten the night before was spotty at best, but between jarringly lucid and real dreams of the bunker room, the memories of Bucky's icy eyes, half-formed plans to help his Angel, and his still sore injuries, staying asleep was difficult. For the first time in months, maybe years, he was fully invested in something. It was like Bucky had brought back the spark he had been missing, igniting some long-dead flint within a few minutes of being near Steve again. Steve relished this feeling, this feeling of purpose and want, and he was holding onto it with both hands, fighting for it with all his might. If that meant taking on an Angel- and maybe more, Steve didn't know how deep this situation went- by himself, then so be it.

 

But he had a team now, and though they were already concerned for his mental health, he needed their help. He would just have to ask and hope that they didn’t send him to a mental hospital.

 

It was less than ten minutes later that the whole group was there; even Darcy and Jane had emerged from their labs. The two scientists, Tony, Clint, Sam, Rhodey, and even Pepper were all gathered around the living room, seated on couches or leaning against a wall. Most of them were staring expectantly at Steve, Sam already showing surprise and concern at the way Steve was pacing behind the couch (heedless of his injuries).

 

"Hey, guys," Steve began, before pausing, looking down as he gathered his thoughts. "I've called you all here today because... I know who it was that attacked me yesterday." That earned him more than a few raised eyebrows, and he met Sam's steady gaze, who gave him a subtle nod. "His name is Bucky... and he is- was- my Guardian Angel."

 

There was an uneasy silence. Rhodey and Tony looked at Steve like he had finally cracked, sharing a knowing glance. Sam and Pepper also shared a glance, though it was impossible to decipher. Jane, Clint, and Darcy all dropped their jaws, some shifting and fidgeting in their seat.

 

"Look," Steve started, "I know it sounds crazy. I wouldn't believe me, either. But... it's true. He was there the day that... when I... back in the bunker. I thought I hallucinated him- I mean, he just appeared out of thin air- and he's been in my dreams ever since. I see wings and everything." Tony and Rhodey just raised their eyebrows higher, but didn't interrupt, thankfully. "And then... yesterday, after he attacked me... an Angel came and visited me," Steve raised a hand at Tony's scoff, the look on Steve's face making Tony close his mouth again. "She said her name was Natasha-" Steve didn't see Clint flinch in his seat, but Pepper did, and nudged Sam, "- and she told me that she was a friend of Bucky's."

 

Steve swallowed, his mouth dry. This was more than he had talked in months combined, and the nerves just made it worse. He was filled with nervous energy, guilt and worry and excitement all combining to make it difficult to speak. "He... Bucky, apparently, broke some serious rules when he appeared and saved me in the bunker. He saved my life, somehow, made sure I would survive the explosion. But he was... tortured, for months, and then... he Fell. From heaven." There was a loaded silence, not one person in the room looking away from Steve. "He's been wandering around Earth since then, human, his memory gone." He took a deep breath, eyes skipping now from one person's to another. "Natasha and her friends thought that, just maybe, if Bucky saw me again some of his memories would return, and he would be able to truly live again. But, uh, that plan kind of back fired."

 

Steve chuckled dryly, but no one else did, everyone watching raptly, some of the skepticism fading away at the conviction in Steve's voice. "So I'm going after him. You all don't have to come, I wouldn't make you, but... I would appreciate it. Even with one arm and apparently none of his memories, he's a hell of a fighter, and I could use the back up." He paused, shaking his head. "I could use the _support_ of... of my friends." Steve looked around the room, trying to judge the response.

 

The silence endured for a few more moments, and Steve was inwardly panicking that this was the final straw into his team locking him away for good in some mental hospital. Sam was the first to step forward from where he had been leaning against the wall. "Of course I'll help you. What are best friends for, anyway?" he said, grinning at Steve, who returned it, the muscles in Steve's face feeling stiff and unused.

 

Tony shook his head. "I'm not sure if I believe all this about Angels and whatnot-" that earned him a sharp look from Pepper, "-but I'll be happy to help you anyway. Let's face it, I'm the most helpful person in the room to have on your team." Steve shook his head, but he still smiled at Tony, showing him how much he appreciated it.

 

Darcy was the next one to speak up. "Jane and I can't do much- I mean, we're not exactly field agents- but all of our smarts are at your disposal."

 

"Thank you, Darcy, Jane," Steve replied, feeling his heart swell. God, how did he come to find such an amazing group of people? He was sure that he didn't deserve them.

 

Clint sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yea, of course I'll help, Steve. Only..." Clint met Steve's eyes, frowning heavily, apprehensive. "There's something you gotta know." Steve nodded, waiting while Clint seemed to pluck up his courage.

 

"Uh..." Clint began, shifting in his seat. "Well, the thing is, I know Natasha."

 

Jaws dropped around the room, Darcy letting out a " _What?_ "

 

Clint winced. "Um... she's kind of... my Guardian Angel?"

 

Various questions and gasps echoed around the room, but Steve's voice rose above them. "How did you know about her? Angels aren't supposed to show themselves." There was a heat behind his words; if Natasha was visiting Clint, why was she excused while Bucky wasn't?

 

"Look," Clint said, "I don't know jack shit about Heaven, or about most of its rules. Nat doesn't talk about it much, but apparently it's kind of a shitty place. All I know is that Nat has been successfully hiding her visits for... well, for about thirty years now."

 

"Holy shit," Darcy breathed, and Steve gaped at Clint.

 

"And you've hidden this, the whole time?" Tony demanded, seemingly forgetting his earlier skepticism.

 

Clint raised his hands. "In my defense, she came onto me first. And, trust me, she is a hell of a woman, and I love her more than anything. So, yes, I kept her secret, for both her and for me. And none of you can fault me for that." The calmness to his words just undermined the strength in them, and Steve simply clenched his jaw and nodded. That didn't stop his mind from racing however- how did Natasha hide her visits? Why didn't Bucky do so? How had Natasha been able to do this for so long and never get caught? His thoughts went around and around in circles, anger and shock building.

 

"Um...." Jane tentatively raised her hand, like she was in class. "If we're doing this, then I have a confession, too."

 

Steve stared at her in disbelief, and he heard Sam mutter, "You have _got_ to be kidding me." Darcy was watching Jane with wide eyes.

 

"I... kind of... have a Guardian Angel too. His name is Thor. We've been... we've been together for almost seven years now." Her voice was timid and subdued, as if she was bracing herself for backlash.

 

" _What?!_ " Darcy shrieked, her hands coming up to tangle in her hair. Jane bit her lip and nodded, but still met people's gazes evenly.

 

Rhodey sighed, speaking up for the first time. "Goddamnit, is there anyone in here who _isn't_ sleeping with their Guardian Angel?" Tony snorted, reaching for the alcohol in the bar. Pepper eyed him, but didn't say anything, merely putting her hands to her temples.

 

Silence fell once again in the room, Steve with his hands now clenched tightly around the back of the couch. He was focused on controlling his breathing, trying not to fall down the deep pit that was his anger. Not only were two of his friends actively seeing, and no less _dating,_ their Guardian Angels, but they had not been caught or Punished. Meanwhile _his_ Guardian Angel- who he had never even gotten a chance to know, but felt that he could love on sheer principle of how much Bucky had done for him- had been tortured and injured almost to death. Steve took deep breaths, knowing it was wrong to take out his anger and desperation on his teammates, but was barely to keep it in.

 

Sam appeared out of nowhere next to Steve, laying a hand on his shoulder. Immediately Steve's anger began to abate, to fall to reasonable levels in Sam's calming presence. Steve wasn't sure how Sam did it, but just standing there next to him as a solid presence was enough to ground Steve back to himself. He threw Sam a grateful look, to which he responded with a squeeze of Steve's shoulder.

 

Everyone was watching Steve, now, and he flushed slightly under the attention. He coughed once, pasting on a wry smile and joking, "Anyone else have an earth-shattering confession?" There was silence and a couple of chuckles, everyone releasing their tension (especially Jane and Clint). Except for one person.

 

"Aw shit," Darcy groaned, raising her hand. Every head turned slowly to look at her. "In my defense, I am _not_ sleeping with my Guardian Angel. I'm not even sure if I have one, to be honest. But... I'm kind of dating... Loki? The Angel of Mischief?"

 

"The Angel of what?" Clint asked, brow furrowed.

 

But Jane gasped, gaping at her friend. "You're dating Loki? Thor's _brother_? The one that got _kicked out of Heaven_?" Darcy bit her lip and nodded. Clint seemed a bit impressed, mouthing _'Wow...'_ to himself. Sam and Pepper stared wide-eyed but silent at Darcy, while Rhodey and Tony just put their faces in their hands (or in their glass, in Tony's case).

 

Steve was the first to recover. At this point he wasn’t even sure what he could say. "Um... okay. That sounds... are you sure it's... safe?"

 

Darcy scoffed, waving a hand. "Considering it's been going on for a few years now, and he hasn't killed me yet, it's safe to say I should be alright."

 

Jane frowned fiercely at the floor. "I can't believe you didn't tell me."

 

"Well, you didn't tell me about Thor." Darcy pointed out, eyebrow raised.

 

Flushing, Jane retorted, "Well, that's different, Thor can't-"

 

Darcy shook her head. "Loki is even more at risk of being attacked just because of who he is, and for what he's done, I'm sure. I couldn't tell anyone either." The two women glared at each other for a few more moments before softening, rolling their eyes, and shoving each other, which was followed by significant looks that said _'You'll tell me everything later'._

 

Steve cleared his throat. "Um... okay. So, apparently almost everyone in this room knew about Angels in some way beforehand. I suppose that makes this easier." Shifting into ‘leader mode’, as Tony called it, Steve stood up straighter and rolled his shoulders back, continuing, "Now what we need is a plan, to try and find Bucky again, to see if I can get him to remember who he is."

 

Tony snorted. "Sure, piece of cake." Rhodey shoved his shoulder, and Tony threw him an exasperated look. Pepper then kicked him, and he turned a wounded look to her. His two friends stared him down, until Tony groaned, setting down his tumbler of scotch. "Ugh, alright. You can have J.A.R.V.I.S. to scan through security and cellphone footage to find any trace of Bucky. He can't be too far."

 

Giving him a sincere nod, Steve said, "Thank you, Tony." The engineer waved a hand, rolling his eyes.

 

"Darcy and I can do research on any literature about Angels and Fallen Angels, see if we can find anything. And, um, I suppose I could ask Thor about it," she added in a sheepish murmur.

 

Darcy nodded her assent. "I would offer to ask Loki for help, but to be honest, I doubt he would." A few people threw her looks at that, and she waved them off. "Look, he's not the nicest guy, but he's fine. Just trust me."

 

Rhodey stepped forward, crossing his arms. "I know I'll be there for backup when you do find him. If the last fight was any indication, you'll probably need help."

 

"That means a lot, Rhodey, thank you," Steve replied, throat feeling tight with emotions that he hadn't felt in months.

 

"Ditto." Clint said, saluting Steve.

 

"And you have me, of course, like I said earlier," Sam said, clapping Steve on the back. Steve smiled at both Sam and Clint, the two closest friends he had in life, feeling as though his heart might burst. He hadn’t felt this much comradery since the Commandos, though he shoved down any feelings of nostalgia, instead trying to focus on the present. This was all such a change, even just from two days ago. For the first time in two years, everything was looking up, and Steve could say that he was actually truly happy. It was almost a stranger to him now, looking back on the recent past, and it was a shock to him how much he had missed it. Or how low he had let himself fall.

 

Apparently, all he needed was to get the shit beat out of him by his ex-Guardian Angel to get some sense of purpose back in his life. The heavy cloud of uselessness and numbness had pulled back an inch, letting some life back into his bones.

 

"Thank you, every one of you. It really means a lot to me," Steve started, unsure how to express the now-unfamiliar gratitude and relief bursting out of him.

 

Tony mimed gagging. "We get it, Rogers, we get it. Please put the emotions away." That earned him another kick from Pepper, but Steve chuckled, shaking his head. It was better to get down to business anyway.

 

"Alright, Tony, have J.A.R.V.I.S. start scanning. Jane and Darcy, see if you can dig up anything on how to deal with this. Or even how to handle amnesia, since that's basically what we're dealing with. Sam, Clint, Rhodey... we should try and devise a plan for when we find him." Everyone nodded, heading off to their separate tasks, and Steve let out a huge breath, feeling lighter than ever before.

 

* * *

 

_2005- August_

_There was nothing around him but cold. The land was desolate, snow covered, completely empty. He shivered, sitting up, body screaming in protest. He was… where was he? How did he get here? Who… who_ was _he? The man began to panic, breath coming fast and short as he racked his mind, nothing but terrifying emptiness stretching behind him. He didn’t have a name- he didn’t have history- did he even exist?_

_Pulling himself up, he immediately fell again, off balance, crying out when he saw he didn’t have a left arm. Staggering upright, he began to hyperventilate and shudder, panic and hypothermia creeping through his limbs. He stumbled forward, heading in a random direction, praying that he would soon reach someone who could help him._

_At the end of his energy he ran into a small village, and he almost cried with relief. At the first house he came to, he knocked on the door, almost falling in as it was opened. The family there took him in, asking him questions and muttering to themselves in… in Russian? He shook his head as they asked him where he was from, who he was, what he was doing. They tutted to themselves about the crazy soldier wandering around in winter._

_The Winter Soldier, then. His name? He ate the food offered, dressed in the warmer clothes, and huddled in a corner in the spare room, eyes vacant and mind scrambling to make sense of anything. There was nothing, a yawning space where everything he_ was _should be. He cried that night, silent tears wracking his body as a terrible sense of loss enveloped him._

_2006- January_

_He moved to Turkey, into Bursa, to avoid making connections or leaving a trace. There he stayed in a poorhouse, just one of many poor souls, invisible to anyone. With the sheer number of people there, each one with their own problems, no one bothered to talk to or learn about the strange newcomer, or what his issues were. It was a comparatively safe place, and he was left in peace, the respite allowing him to come to terms with his life during the day._

_At night, when he closed his eyes, strange visions haunted him, ones of blue eyes and golden hair, large wings and a white-gold light. They tormented him with their vagueness and terrible loneliness. They roused him to consciousness, often screaming and writhing. He stopped sleeping any more than was entirely essential._

_2007- March_

_The Winter Soldier brought himself to Ahvaz, Iran, catching hold of a train as it slowed down to round a bend. In the city he was able to secure a house (more of a hut) on the edge of the bustling streets, quiet and set apart. He was left alone to steal and farm food, his days filled with nothing but strength exercises and staring at the wall, contemplating his lack of memories._

_When he did go into town, for special food items or new clothing, he made sure not to draw attention to himself, looking as normal and inconspicuous as possible. He rarely talked to others, but could often pass for a local when asked._

_More than once he asked himself how he knew how to navigate these streets, how he knew how to speak these languages, how he knew the culture and history of every place he visited. These were not voluntary things, these words and instructions and facts that popped into his mind and left again, leaving him with a headache and a sense of something large and frightening._

_2008- May_

_He decided to go to Luxor, Egypt, hitchhiking and stealing cars as he went. Once there he slept on the streets, in alleyways, never asleep for more than a few hours at a time, always on alert for thieves. He earned a reputation in the streets, people coming to him to threaten or kill others, sometimes for help with stealing or kidnapping. He obliged, having no other source of income other than stealing himself, and quickly grew to notoriety._

_Somehow the process, the act, of harming others seemed to viscerally wrong to him. He did it for the money, or to guarantee his own safety, yet it always affected him deeply, much deeper than it should. It seemed as if it was part of something bigger, larger than him, an overarching purpose that he had lost. It terrified him, the prospect that he had forgotten such an important part of himself, yet he could never quite reach it to see what made him feel so ill._

_The Winter Solider still didn’t know what he was running from._

 

 

__

 

_2009- October_

_The Winter Soldier went next to Liechtenstein, a small town called Nendeln, and found a small and disgusting tenement apartment to rent, cash only, no questions asked._

_One night among many similar ones a face appeared in his dreams- his nightmares- and he awoke shaking and sweating. A pale and defined visage, with cornflower blue eyes and soft golden hair. The high cheekbones and strong jaw were beautiful, but the life and strength blazing out of those eyes made Bucky lose his breath._

_He put a fist through the wall, breath erratic and heart thudding painfully in his chest. This face was the only concrete memory he had of the_ before time. _The Winter Soldier’s amazement and awe turned into fear and hatred for this man, the man who must have stolen his life away and left him to die. Curling his hand into a fist, he vowed then and there that if he ever found this man again, he would make him_ suffer _._

_2010- February_

_He relocated to Russia, to Vladivostok, living in the attic of an elderly couple who forgot who he was half the time._

_When the old woman had her wits about her, her brusque manner and inner steel reminded The Winter Soldier of someone he had forgotten. It irritated him constantly, a specter on the edge of his mind, never able to pin it down or give a name. Another woman, certainly, one with fire in her heart and steel in her spine._

_One day he snapped and killed the couple, breaking their necks as they sat on their loveseat, unable to take the constant vague reminder or all the things he had lost. He threw up afterwards, seeing flashes of red hair overlaid on the dead bodies before him, and he ran until he couldn’t run anymore._

_2011- September_

_The Winter Solider found an empty Army safe house in Abu Halifa, Kuwait, and settled in there. This time he stayed away from people, eating only what he could scavenge or steal in the night, isolating himself in order to protect both himself and the people around him. But he could tell that this was not what he needed._

_The presence of others simultaneously vexed and comforted the Winter Soldier. He had lived by himself, only speaking when necessary, for years now. He was always on edge near others, but welcomed the sound of their voices._

_The silence in his mind frightened him, but what horrified him more was the fact that the silence should be frightening at all. Surely voices in his mind would signify insanity, so why was he mourning the isolation in his mind?_

_2012- June_

_Sneaking into the cargo hold of a train, he moved to Wroclaw in Poland, to hide in one of the many old barns on a farm. It was a place he was free to break and destroy and scream as he wished, as his mind felt more and more strained. The Winter Soldier felt trapped, panicked, as if he was missing someone or something, but he didn’t know what it was or where to find it. It was enough to drive him insane with overthinking, spending hours at a time curled inwards, hands digging into his head, trying to remember a single detail._

_Things teased and skirted the edges of his mind, flashes of colors swirling around someone’s head, an easel filled with paint, a dusty Humvee, things he had never seen before yet missed with a fierce ache._

_With every place he felt more and more creeping in on his mind, shadows and ghosts of his past that didn’t reveal themselves, merely their presence._

_2013- May_

_The next destination was Patras, Greece, as there were now plenty of empty and abandoned places in the city due to the failing economy._

_The days came easier now; it became second nature to push away the lingering thoughts and feelings, the snippets of false memories and images that flickered in. The Winter Soldier learned how to shut that part of himself down, allowing himself more peace and quiet (while he was awake, at least). He stopped following the rabbit down the hole, stopped questioning the blankness of his past, and focused his energy on survival._

_Physically, he was healed, whatever injury that had taken his arm eight years ago was healed and it no longer hurt. He found he had excellent skills with knives and other weapons, and several types of fighting came easily to him. The Winter Soldier vented his frustrations out through exercise and sparring with invisible partners, ignoring the phantom itch on his back or the missing tingling electricity in his fingertips._

_2014- April_

_The Winter Soldier was now in Romania, in Bucharest, once again renting a small yet skeevy apartment. He was alone, sharpening one of his many knives, when suddenly he felt another presence in the room. Whipping his head up, he gawked as he came face to face with a redhead._

_Something in his mind jarred and screeched to a halt, eyes scanning her face desperately- she was important, he_ knew _her, didn’t he? But the flash of desperate recognition was gone as soon as it had come, any possible memory slipping through his fingers and he felt nothing but anger once more._

_Pointing his knife at her, he growled, “What do you want?”_

_She replied, calmly, “I know where the man you seek is.”_

_That gave the Winter Soldier pause, and he slowly lowered the knife. The old hunger for vengeance filtered back into his heart, and he narrowed his eyes, growling, “Show me.”_

 

* * *

 

 

The plan was simple enough, or so Steve thought. J.A.R.V.I.S. had successfully matched to Bucky's description and analyzed his movements and face, and was now on high alert for spotting Bucky anywhere nearby. As soon as J.A.R.V.I.S. sounded the alarm, their team would head out to meet him, Steve on point. Steve would try to talk to Bucky, get him to think hard enough to remember, but if there was a fight, Clint would be on a nearby rooftop with tranquilizer arrows, and Sam, Tony, and Rhodey would be flying above, ready to intervene. No one was particularly fond of Steve being alone for any period of time in case anything unforeseen happened, but Steve refused to put anyone else in harm's way unless it was necessary.

 

They were supposed to wait until Bucky had been spotted, but Steve was never one for patience. So, changing his routine completely, he took to spending more time outside the Tower than in. He ran for miles every morning, ate out twice a day, and took long walks around the city, stopping often to sketch or admire the views. Sam knew what Steve was doing, and clearly disapproved of it, but it had been months since Sam had seen Steve look so young and bright, so he resisted trying to stop him. Going outside was actually the best thing for him... barring any surprise attacks from one-armed ex-Angels.

 

It was on one of these expeditions outside, less than a week after their little meeting, that Steve finally saw Bucky again. He knew that Bucky hadn't actually been spotted, as J.A.R.V.I.S would have told them, but the moment he saw Bucky's face peering out from a passing hoodie, Steve leapt into action. Swiftly turning around, Steve hurried his footsteps and followed after Bucky, trying to keep the gray sweatshirt in his sight. It was harder than he thought, especially with the growing afternoon foot traffic, but he weaved and ducked through the crowds, keeping pace with Bucky.

 

Only a few minutes later, Bucky side-stepped into an alleyway, and Steve's heart jumped into his throat, loathe to lose him again. Picking up his pace yet again, he ducked into the same alley, stomach falling as he found it empty. He cursed under his breath, looking around and trying to find any sign of someone else in the dirty and cluttered area.

 

Until, abruptly, Steve was roughly shoved up against the grimy wall, a knife at his throat. Bucky's hair was still long and ragged, thick stubble on his jaw. His eyes burned from within, looking clear but cold. He was, Steve noted absently, quite good looking, even with the unkempt and dirty appearance. Swallowing and feeling the edge of the knife scrape against his Adam's apple, Steve focused his eyes back to Bucky's, surprised at the ferocity (and complete lack of recognition) in them.

 

"Who are you, and why are you following me?" Bucky demanded. His voice was rough and hoarse, as if he had been smoking cigarettes for decades. _'Or as if he had been screaming for months on end,'_ Steve's brain supplied, and he winced.

 

Taking a breath to calm his racing heart, Steve replied as steadily as he could, "My name is Steve Rogers. I think we know each other. Or, well, you know me. You're my Guardian Angel. Bucky."

 

Bucky tilted his head slightly, reminiscent of a child. "Who the hell is Bucky?"

 

Steve's heart cracked at the careful blankness of his voice, the way Bucky twitched slightly at the name, eyes skittering to the right for a moment. "You. You're Bucky. You used to be an Angel, my Guar-"

 

"Stop saying that," Bucky hissed, eyes now burning at Steve in full force again, knife pressed tighter to Steve's skin, though not quite breaking it. "You’re lying."

 

Steve closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts. For all that he had been desperate to find Bucky, he had no idea what on Earth to say to the man in order to get him to remember. "No, I'm not. You're Bucky. You used to be my Guardian Angel. You saved my life in the desert, ten years ago, and were... Punished for it." Bucky's eyes were flicking back and forth over Steve's face, cracks showing in his composure. "Bucky... you saved my life. I owe you everything. You _have_ to remember."

 

Bucky growled. "I don't _have_ to do anything." With one final press, leaving a thin line of blood on Steve's skin, he slipped the knife back into some hidden place, taking a step away from Steve. "Leave me alone. If I see you again, I'll kill you. That's a promise." With that Bucky swiftly left the alley, leaving Steve behind. Steve let out a heavy breath, his knees feeling weak as he leaned all of his weight against the wall, left reeling.

 

Bucky showed no recognition, no memory at all of their history, and seemed to be bursting with hatred for Steve. The way Bucky was acting, Steve didn't have to work hard at believing that Bucky would actually kill him, if given the chance. It was enough to make his throat close up and his eyes sting, and he pushed his fists into his eyes, willing himself not to give up hope. This wasn't the end. There had to be something, something he could say or do to get Bucky to remember. Steve couldn't give upon Bucky, not yet; he wasn't lying when he said he owed Bucky everything.

 

But as Steve sat there on the dirty ground of the alley, alone, it was hard to keep any of his previous buoyant hope at all. The previous opening in the oppressing cloud was closing up, the crushing weight of emptiness starting to bear down on him once again.

 

* * *

 

Darcy looked up as a sharp sound in her lab startled her. She frowned as she looked over by the door and saw Loki, dressed somewhat casually in a button down black shirt over black jeans. From the guileless look on his face and the stack of folders that was now on the ground, it was obvious he had tried to get her attention in the most obnoxious way possible. "You're like a goddamn cat," Darcy muttered, getting up to go and stack the folders back up on the desk. As soon as she had set them down Loki grabbed her arm and twirled her into him, hooking an arm around her waist. Darcy rolled her eyed but smiled brightly, standing on her tip toes to give him a kiss.

 

"Mm, hello, darling," Loki said, with a small grin of his own.

 

"Hi," she replied, wrapping her arms around his waist. Loki only visited her once every couple of weeks, so she had no problem postponing her research for a bit. She wasn’t getting much useful information anyway. "What's up? Cause any mischief recently?"

 

Loki shrugged. "Nothing is up, and no, I have not." The false indignation in his tone made Darcy snort, but she didn't say anything. "I just had a spare moment and wanted to come see you. I do miss you when I'm not here."

 

Darcy looked down to hide her blush, giving him a squeeze with her arms. "Yea, yea, I missed you too, Mr. Sappy." There was silence for a moment as Loki started to run a hand through her hair, still holding her right up against him. With a sigh, Darcy realized that she had to tell him what had happened, in case he didn't already know and was somehow caught in the middle of all of it. "Hey, Loki?" she said, lifting her face from where it had been pressed into his chest.

 

"Yes?"

 

"Something happened the other day, something weird...." She paused, Loki's only reaction to raise a sharp eyebrow. "Uh- apparently, Steve's old Guardian Angel, who is actually human now, went cuckoo for cocoa puffs and showed up again. He beat Steve up pretty badly and then disappeared again. But then apparently he got a visit from one of the other Angels, someone named Natasha, and now they're gonna go after to him to like save him or something. Oh, and apparently, Jane has been seeing Thor and Clint has been dating Natasha for years. Like, who keeps that from their friends? Especially Jane? I mean, not that I have room to complain, but-"

 

Loki slipped a hand over her mouth. "Darcy, love, please calm down." He waited until she caught her breath back, and removed his hand once he was sure her rambling had paused. "Now- slower, and tell me what you know." Darcy frowned at the tone in his voice- he sounded calm enough, but there was a strained note behind his normally controlled composure, and it worried her slightly to hear it. The only times that Loki sounded anything other than cool and assured (or suave and cocky) usually resulted in something bad happening.

 

Darcy took a deep breath, entangling their fingers together. "Steve's Guardian Angel, Bucky, showed up again. Except he doesn't remember Steve, cause he's human now or something. So, Natasha- another Angel, Clint's Angel, his girlfriend, _Jesus_ \- came to tell Steve to help him. So now the whole gang is working on finding Bucky and Steve is going to try and get him to remember." Fidgeting, her eyes skittered away from his. “And… and I told them about you. It just felt… wrong, to hide that, when everyone else was coming clean. I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have.” When there was still no response, Darcy met his gaze again.

 

There was no reaction on Loki's face; he remained carefully blank, but Darcy knew him well enough after these past years to see something like panic and apprehension in his green eyes. "Are you... does this have anything to do with you?" she asked carefully, narrowing her eyes. She didn't know a lot about what Loki did when he was not here. She knew all about how he had been cast down to stay on Earth long ago, and that since then his title "Angel of Mischief" wasn't just a name, but he had resolutely refused to say anything more on his current doings.

 

That's not to say that Darcy didn't have her hunches. Whenever Loki appeared to her, upset or distant, it was usually right before or after a disaster occurred, or an unexplainable event happened, down on Earth. It wasn't hard to put together, especially for someone as smart as Darcy. She had given him many lectures since he had first come to her in her lab late that one night, and it had seemed to help somewhat, as those incidents and strained visits had greatly decreased since. But with a random reappearance of a Fallen Angel and Steve being in trouble.... Darcy was fond of Steve, and if Loki was responsible... they would have _words_.

 

But Loki was shaking his head, his voice subdued. "No, I had nothing to do with Barnes' Punishment or Fall. I heard, of course, but I have not seen him since... well, since I met you." That threw Darcy for a loop, and she tilted her head. Loki hesitated, clearly deciding on how much to reveal. "I have not been to Heaven in many years. The last time I was there... well, let's just say that _Bucky_ and I's meeting was not very pleasant."

 

Darcy frowned, saying, "Did you attack Steve's Guardian Angel? Did you attack Heaven? Loki, what the fuck?" Sure, she had known that Loki wasn't the nicest person, but that seemed extreme, even for him. She started to pull away, but Loki's arms closed around her.

 

"Darcy, please, listen," Loki looked pained, as if he would rather be doing anything but this. "I... I am not a kind creature, you know this. I have not been a servant of the light for many a millennia. But... and this sounds mad, and I myself have trouble believing it sometimes, but ever since I became involved with you... my wish for harm towards others has greatly decreased."

 

His voice was tight and formal, and Darcy couldn't help but snicker. "Wow, that's romantic."

 

Loki rolled his eyes. "I mean it, as unfortunate as it is. Right before starting to see you, I... I attacked Heaven. Twice. It was right after that second attack that I decided to seek you out. At first, it was out of curiosity, and of some desire to hurt Thor. It was years before I decided to reveal myself, plotting the perfect plan to harm Thor. I drove him quite mad by shielding you from his sight while I was near you. But...." He paused again, pursing his lips as he thought of what to say. "After I began visiting, I realized that I wanted to keep doing it because of _you_. And the more time I spent with you, the less ill will I felt towards those who have wronged me."

 

Darcy twirled her bracelet, feeling overwhelmed and a bit skittish. It wasn't every day that an Angel- well, half-Angel, she wasn't sure- basically confessed to changing his whole nature because of you. She didn't think she was all that special, to warrant something like that, but knew that this was important for Loki to admit. The fact that he was admitting it at all was incredulous, and she didn't want to ruin the moment.

 

"I stopped my grand plan for Heaven, leaving them in peace- if you call that corrupted place peaceful- since. Call it... growing affection for humans, or a calming of my 'tormented soul'," and Darcy could hear the air quotes around those words, "but you, Darcy Lewis, have changed something within me, and that is no simple thing to do." By the end of his little speech Loki's voice had fallen to a murmur, and Darcy shivered with a mix of emotions. The moment brought her back to the first time they had met, four years ago, in a lab much smaller than this one.

 

 _It was late at night, and Darcy was_ still _up struggling with a piece of programming. She was between projects at the moment, looking for a new researcher or engineer to take her on, so she was inside the crappy lab at the university, struggling to fix the code on her new personal project. She almost didn’t notice when someone walked into her peripheral vision, but years of walking home alone at night in New York City had taught her vigilance and a quick draw. Reaching back into her purse she drew her trusty Taser, aiming it at the- holy shit,_ very _attractive- man that was now in the lab with her._

_He was dressed formally, in dress pants and a button down, and held himself straight and tall. She had never seen him on campus before, and she would have remembered him, let alone in the computer engineering buildings. “Who are you?” she demanded, backing away warily._

_The man’s face betrayed nothing, but he gave her a sharp smile. “I have been known as the Angel of Mischief to some, though_ _my name is Loki.”_

_Snorting, Darcy retorted, “Right. Sure, dude. Whatever drugs you’re on, I… actually, you got any on you to share? Sounds like a fun time.”_

_Stepping silently closer to her, Loki- if that even was his real name- crossed his hands behind his back, his face now innocent and open. “I assure you, I am of sound mind. I know exactly who I am, Darcy Lewis, and I know who you are.” With that he stopped in front of her, eyeing her up and down very obviously._

_His gaze made her shudder, for a multitude of reasons. “That’s just creepy,” she retorted, still holding up the Taser, positioning her desk chair between her and Loki. “You have like thirty seconds to leave before I Taser your ass into the ground.”_

_Loki held up his hands, shrugging his shoulders conciliatorily. “You don’t believe me, fine. Just let me_ show _you before you… ‘Taser my ass’,” he said with a smirk. The next thing Darcy knew, the man was_ glowing _, lit up like a disco ball from the inside. It made is already sharp and striking features downright radiant, and if she squinted… the shadows on the far wall looked like… wings? Skeletal, dead wings, but wings all the same. She couldn’t do anything but watch in fascination, the arm holding the Taser slowly drooping back down to her side._

_Slowly the white light faded away, leaving Darcy half blind in the dim room. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that Loki was now a mere foot from her, watching her with amusement. She swallowed hard, opened her mouth, closed it, and swallowed again. “Um….” she said brilliantly, “what the fuck?”_

_He chuckled, waving a hand elegantly through the air. “I understand you have questions. But I_ am _an Angel, though a poor example of one, I suppose.” He shrugged, though the lines of his shoulders were stiff. “There are more things in this world than you know, Darcy, and I can show them to you, if you’d like.”_

_Darcy stared with wide eyes, completely unsure of where to start. “I… how do I know you’re not just gonna kill me? Like, suck my blood or steal my soul, or whatever?” she asked, more for something to say than genuine worry. Though, the way he was looking at her could be taken to mean that he was about to devour her… either in the fun way or the not-so-fun way. Or he was just being a creeper. God, she was going insane._

_“I assure you, that’s not what I have in mind. You intrigue me, Darcy, and I wish to know more about you. I have been watching you for years, and I admit to being fascinated with you and your mind,” Loki responded, tilting his head ever so slightly, bright green eyes watching her intently._

_What does a person even say to that? “Uh… creepy much? Wait, how much did you see?” she demanded, mind reviewing so many things that were never meant for others’ eyes. Then she shook her head-_ ‘Focus!’ _\- pointing at Loki. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want. But… but if you want to get to know me… or whatever it is you’re doing here… then you do it like a normal human being.” Huffing a breath and tossing her hair back, she stuck out her hand. “I’m Darcy Lewis, computer engineer and broke college student.”_

_With a smirk, Loki took her hand, his skin extremely cool against her own._

_It all devolved from there. Loki visited several times each week, distracting her from her work and otherwise disrupting her routine. She couldn’t complain, though, as he would bring her foods from around the globe, trinkets and jewelry made of stone she had never seen before, and colorful clothing made of material for which she had no name. He took her out, to the fanciest restaurants and the chicest museums, never once having any trouble reaching these exclusive events. Darcy, who had always been a bit materialistic, rejoiced._

_Only a month had passed of this before Darcy kissed him. There was no doubting that Loki was gorgeous, and of course had the air of mystery to him. But Darcy could see beneath that, beneath the cold and sneering front he presented to others. He was kind, and generous, and had never been anything but perfectly sweet to her. The rare moments he had talked about himself- nothing big, just a short bit about an older brother, first coming down to Earth, some of the things he had seen- she could sense he had a much deeper personality to him, one that rarely saw the sun._

_He never spoke about what he did with the rest of his days, in the time she didn’t see him. She got the feeling it wasn’t good, whatever it was, but she didn’t ask questions- when she did, Loki grew more distant and aloof, and often left sooner than normal. Her suspicions were confirmed one day when Loki showed up in her apartment, spitting mad if the snarl on his face was any indication. Darcy looked from him to her TV, which was currently displaying a news channel covering an enormous mudslide in Peru that had sent several homes sliding into a river. Loki saw the news program, and immediately froze, his face flattening into a blank mask._

_It was enough for Darcy. “Did you do that?” she asked carefully, pointing. She knew that anyone who went by the moniker ‘Angel of Mischief’ couldn’t possibly be harmless, but this was… this was large scale destruction. She bit her lip, seeing Loki with new eyes._

_Loki watched her impassively, unreadable. “If I did, what would you do about it?” His voice was quiet and smooth, even slightly challenging._

_Taking a deep breath, Darcy exhaled gustily, hands raking through her hair. Tapping her fingers on her hips, she admitted, “You’ve been nothing but kind to me since we met, and I’ve never felt like I’m in danger around you.” Loki seemed pleased by that, but she held up a finger before he could comment. “But… hurting others just because you are upset is_ not _okay. You can’t just do things like that, Loki.”_

_His lip curled slightly. “I have been doing this for millennia, Darcy, I do not intend to stop now.” Loki stepped forward, eyes glittering. “I was kicked out of Heaven, out of my own home, because others did not like the things I did or the ways I thought. I do as I please; a few human dwellings are nothing.”_

_Though the news about getting kicked out of Heaven was a shock- what on Earth had he done to have that happen?- Darcy was growing angry now, couldn’t believe how he was speaking to her She put her hands on her hips, saying, “Um, no, that’s not how it works. I was in the foster system as a kid, you know, I know about not having a home and being left out.”_

_Loki scoffed, scowling. “I don’t think_ that- _”_

_“I’m not finished.” Darcy snapped, and Loki had the audacity to look surprised. Darcy took a breath, trying to bring back some modicum of calm. “I know that you’re angry and need an outlet- it happens to the best of us. And I know that I can’t stop you from doing… whatever it is you’re doing. But…” she shrugged, smiling gently at him, “I’ve kind of grown attached to you, in case you hadn’t noticed, so I don’t really want you to leave.”_

_For the first time in all the months she’d known him, Darcy seemed to have rendered Loki speechless, his mouth slightly ajar. A moment passed, and Darcy worried that she had gone too far, either in berating him or confessing how much he meant to her. But instead Loki chuckled, and reached out a hand to pull her close. “What a damnable woman you are,” he murmured, ducking down to kiss her soundly._

_Darcy laughed breathlessly against his lips, placing her hands on his chest to push him back a couple inches. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” He bent down to kiss her again but she stopped him, hand over his mouth. “Hey, but seriously… can we please talk about this in the future? You don’t have to cause natural disasters or, or… crash the stock market whenever you’re upset. You have me now.”_

_Loki studied her face, shaking his head slowly. “You are truly remarkable, Darcy,” he said with a slight grin. He bent to try and kiss her for a third time, letting out a frustrated groan when she caught him with a hand to the forehead, raising her eyebrow expectantly. Rolling his eyes, he relented, “Yes, yes, alright, I promise I will come to you… more_ often _.”_

_Grinning at him, Darcy replied, “I can work with that,” before pulling him down into a kiss._

_And they had, Darcy learning Loki’s tells and mood shifts after long nights spent together, sometimes not even talking, just sitting next to each other on her roof. It had brought them even closer together, in her opinion, and every time he opened up even the slightest bit for her made something warm glow inside her chest._

 

Looking down at their feet next to one another, pleasant memories on her mind yet a small frown on her face, Darcy asked, "Why didn't you tell me this before? I mean, we've been together for... almost four years. Why now?" She wasn’t mad, per se, but it stung a little that such a big part of their history hadn’t come up before. Darcy was no stranger to hiding things, or Loki hiding things from her, but this was… this was important.

 

Sighing, Loki shook his head slightly. "I did not want to burden you with my past. I will not say that I was wrong, or that they were mistakes, but... perhaps it is for the better this way. I still detest Thor for what he has done, or failed to do, and I _am_ due some form of retribution for the fate that Heaven sent me to. But I know you do not approve of such things, and I... I wish to make you happy, Darcy."

 

There was silence, as Darcy absorbed all of what he had said. It was a rare occurrence that Loki said anything about his life, or shared in any deeper emotions. But Darcy had learned to savor these moments, to take them for the treasured admissions they were. It was times like this when she remembered how much she had truly come to care for Loki. Even now, she wanted to comfort him, to help him reconcile his past and his present, to make him see that he didn't need to lash out at others. Taking a deep breath, she looked back up at him with a grin. "But... this doesn't mean you'll stop being the Angel of Mischief, right? 'Cause that job title is pretty cool."

 

Loki chuckled, dropping a kiss on top of her head. "Never, my dear. It is much too fun to stop completely." He sounded relieved to have moved past the conversation, and it showed in the way he shifted to bring Darcy even closer to him, not an inch of space between them.

 

Darcy grinned. "Good. I kind of have a thing for bad boys."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	11. Chapter 11

_In the darkness and death,_

_the light of your soul was a shining beacon._

_But when I appeared to you,_

_you struggled, fought, and said that_

_you said you were tainted and_

_that you weren’t worth saving._

_I didn’t listen._

 

2014- May

 

J.A.R.V.I.S. didn't spot Bucky for another three weeks. Steve had refused to give up, even though he could practically feel the pitying and concerned looks from his teammates. Ever since Bucky had first come to- attacked- him, a certain buzzing, fluttering sensation had not left Steve's core. He couldn't describe it if he tried, but the bubbling and warm feeling only got stronger in Bucky's presence, he found, and so Steve knew that Bucky was nearby. The pit that had been growing below his lungs no longer felt empty and cold- it was now filled with light, and it kept Steve optimistic and determined, no matter how long he had to wait.

 

He knew that Bucky would do- and had done even more- for him. It was the least Steve could do.

 

When J.A.R.V.I.S. pinged their phones with a GPS location tracking someone's movement, Steve's heart leapt into his throat, and he jumped off of his couch. He immediately ran down the stairs into their locker room, pulling on his body armor (he wasn't taking any risks this time), grabbing a pistol, just in case, hoping desperately he wouldn't have to use it. He was soon joined by Clint, who grabbed his bow and quiver, and Sam, who threw on his goggles and wing pack. He nodded tersely to them, adrenaline pumping as hard as he could ever remember, even in the Middle East in the Army.

 

There was already a car waiting there, idling, for them, and Steve jumped in the driver's seat. As soon as Clint and Sam shut their doors, Steve took off, following the directions J.A.R.V.I.S. gave him through the earpiece. Tony and Rhodey chimed in, saying they were already on their way to meet them there, landing on a rooftop a block or two away. Steve grunted to show he'd heard, knuckles white with his tense grip on the steering wheel.

 

It only took six minutes to get to where Bucky was being tracked from, but it felt like lifetimes to Steve, even with J.A.R.V.I.S. changing the traffic lights so that they didn’t have to stop. As Steve hastily parked the car and jumped out, he was already looking around to spot Bucky, but didn’t see anything. He heard Sam and Clint getting into position, and received confirmation from Rhodey and Tony that they were in position as well. Steve gave a vague hum of assent, carefully walking towards the closest alley, peering into it in the dim evening light. He didn’t see anyone, didn’t see any movement….

 

Sam yelling “Steve, watch out!” was the only warning Steve got before something barreled into him, sending him flying into the darkened alley. He ducked his head and rolled, coming back up just in time to duck a flying fist.

 

The comms were a commotion, all of his teammates arguing over what to do and who should go in. “Guys, stay back. I got this,” Steve yelled, cutting through the chatter.

 

Clint scoffed. “You’ve already gotten your ass handed to you by this guy-”

 

With a grunt of frustration, keeping his eyes locked onto Bucky, who was testily circling him, Steve cut Clint off. “Yes, I know, but stay away. Interference will only make it worse.” Steve could almost feel the anger and concern seeping through his earpiece, and he just hoped that his teammates would listen to him. But right now he had to focus on Bucky.

 

“Bucky. Please. I’m not gonna fight you. I just-”

 

Bucky growled at him, a knife appearing in his hand. “I told you not to follow me, not to come near me. You did it anyway, and you brought your friends,” he spat. “I warned you what would happen.” He twirled the knife in his fingers, taking two steps closer to Steve.

 

Steve took a breath, willing himself to stay calm. “You’ll remember me. I know you will. You’ve been there since I was born, when I was sick and small, you stayed with me when my mom died- you know, I felt you that day, I knew you were there- and watched over me during my time in the Army. I’m alive because of you, Bucky, god knows how many times over. Please, you must remember some of that.”

 

Staring at him, jaw clenched and eyes wide, Bucky froze. A moment later he shook his head sharply, as if dislodging a fly. “No. I don’t remember anything. And it’s your fault.”

 

That gave Steve pause. “What?” He frowned. “Bucky, no, it’s-” Steve stopped again, brain catching up with him. And immediately his stomach sank, because Bucky was right. No matter what version was in Bucky’s mangled mind, the bottom line was that it was Steve’s fault. Sure, Steve had felt guilty and indebted to Bucky since he found out the truth, but this was so much worse, because he hadn’t yet realized the sheer weight of what he had done, what he had caused. The breath was driven from his lungs, and he slumped forward, heart tripping over itself and vision blurring. The thought crashed in his head like a wave, over and over again like the tide, ‘It’s my fault it’s my fault it’s my fault-’

 

Bucky either didn’t notice or didn’t care about Steve’s instant desolation, because he was still hissing at Steve. “I don’t remember anything before nine years ago. I woke up in the Russian wasteland, alone and hungry and half dead. Anything before that is black, just a blank slate of nothingness. Except-” Bucky took another menacing step forward, “for you. The only thing I have from before is a memory of your face. So tell me, Steve,” and the way he spit Steve’s name with such hatred felt like a whip taken to Steve’s already tattered heart, “why else would you be the one person I remember if you had nothing to do with it?”

 

For that, Steve had no answer. Because that was the horrible truth- if it hadn’t been for Steve and his fucking hero complex, then Bucky would never have been put in this situation. If Steve hadn’t been stupid enough to go after Schmidt, if Steve hadn’t been so damn stubborn and narrow-minded he could have found a way to get both networks of bombs disabled, and none of this ever would have happened.

 

All of this hit him like a collapsing building, every vague feeling of guilt and loss newly barbed and pointed directly at his heart, specific wrongs he committed, or allowed to happen, tearing at him like thorns. “I’m sorry, Bucky,” he choked, lifting his eyes to meet icy blues. “God, I’m so fucking sorry that this happened to you. But I’m here now, let me help you.”

 

Bucky snarled. “I don’t need your help, you’ve already helped enough.” With that he lunged at Steve, and though he distantly heard shouting through the comms, he didn’t respond, too focused on blocking the serrated steel coming at his head. Steve didn’t fight back, merely blocking the fatal knife strikes and simply absorbing the kicks to the ribs sent his way. Bucky was vicious and quick, managing to slash Steve several times on his face and arms. Steve flinched and simply continued, trying to knock the knife out of Bucky’s hand, or try to get him in an arm bar. It was difficult, as Bucky seemed to still be impossibly strong and agile, and was evading Steve again and again.

 

Suddenly, a noise at the mouth of the alleyway made both Steve and Bucky turn their head, and just as Sam flew above them, Bucky expertly threw the knife straight at him. Sam twisted, causing the blade to hit his wing pack, instead of his torso, dead center. The wings immediately started malfunction, sending Sam spasming off course, the jets without the wings’ directional control sending him blocks away within seconds.

 

“Shit! Steve, I’m useless until I can get these things under control to land. Rhodes, Tony, one of you go help Steve.” Sam was breathless and agitated.

 

Grunting as Bucky flew at Steve again, now with just his fist, Steve said through gritted teeth, “No. This is my fight, all of you stay back.” He ducked as Bucky sent a powerful punch his way, hissing as Bucky took that moment to send a knee into Steve’s chin, making him taste blood.

 

Tony cursed loudly. “For fuck’s sake, Steve, we’re here to help, not just stand by and watch you get beat to death!”

 

“Tony, I swear to god, stay the fuck away from here. I need to do this alone.” Steve then ripped out his comm and threw it on the ground, his moment of distraction costing him as Bucky swept his legs out from underneath him. Steve fell heavily, the wind knocked out of him. He rolled as Bucky aimed a vicious punch downwards, but before he could stand back up Bucky kneed him in the gut, quickly dropping all of his weight onto Steve and his probably-cracked ribs, who was left gasping for air.

 

Bucky’s face was contorted in fury, and he punched Steve impossibly hard, then again, then again. “Whatever you did to me, you will pay. I warned you, now you’re going to die. It’s been my mission ever since I found you.” He punctuated every sentence with another blow, and Steve felt his cheekbone crack, his nose break, a tooth get knocked loose.

 

“’m not gonna fight you,” Steve repeated, more than a little dizzy and concussed, spitting blood out of his mouth.

 

This seemed to anger Bucky further, and he wound up for another punch. But abruptly, as Steve stared into his eyes, a phrase came to him, one he had never heard before yet sounded familiar. It was fuzzy and muddled sounding, as if from a dream or a distorted tape, and it was accompanied by the feeling of someone brushing their lips near-intangibly across his forehead. It brought a sense of peace and warmth that was out of place in the dim alleyway, and the words filled him with an enormous sense of love, or devotion. In Steve’s half-conscious state, he didn’t try to think too hard, simply letting the memory (or whatever it was) take hold.

 

“’Cause I’m with you, always, until the end of the line. And then some.”

 

The punch that might have put Steve out for good stopped in midair, the arm stuck half way between the two men. Bucky’s mouth opened and closed, and his brow furrowed, his eyes clouding over slightly. The pause was enough to encourage Steve, and he swallowed thickly, trying to project as much feeling into his words and gaze as possible. There was more, and Steve let himself get swept along on the tide. “I’m yours, as long as you’ll have me,” he rasped, coughing up more blood.

 

Bucky audibly gasped, mouth falling open once more, a shattered look in his eyes, as if his whole world had ended. It was a look of heartbreak, disbelief, anguish, terror. Tears gathered in the corners of Bucky’s eyes, and he flinched with his whole body, swallowing thickly. “S-Steve?” he whispered roughly, eyes darting back and forth like he wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t. “I- Steve, I- I said that to you once… but when did….”

 

Breath hitching and speeding up, Bucky finally dropped his arm, only to raise it and grab a fistful of his hair. “I… I don’t- I don’t understand, I-” His gaze was panicked and glazed over, and he screwed shut his eyes and let out a small moan, of either fright or agony, as tears began to trail down his cheeks. Bucky’s body was trembling all over, and he was shaking his head fiercely. “I’m getting… why do I know you… all of these- memories…. it hurts, Stevie.” He curled into himself slightly, wrapping his arm around his torso. “I- I’m sorry, so fucking sorry…. I don’t- I can’t-”

 

The relief made Steve’s entire body melt into the ground. “It’s alright, Buck….” Steve breathed, letting his head drop back to the concrete, letting his hands come up to hold onto Bucky’s hips. “I got you, I got you, don’t worry. It’s my turn to take care of you.”

 

Bucky quickly jerked, wavering for a moment before slumping forward against Steve’s chest. Clint was revealed behind him, bow still poised for a shot, a tranquilizer arrow now embedded in Bucky’s left shoulder. Steve sighed heavily, torn between anger at Clint for shooting Bucky and relief that Bucky could finally get some rest. Blindly reaching out around him, his fingers finally closed around his earpiece he had torn out, and he put it back into his ear. “Tony, Rhodey, you can come pick us up now. I have him, I’ve got Bucky. He’s safe.”

 

* * *

 

When Bucky woke up, it felt as though his entire body had been run over with a steamroller, and then someone had taken a jackhammer to his brain and a beater to his internal organs. He groaned from where he was lying on his back on some sort of bed, much softer and cleaner than anything he had felt in years. His eyelids fluttered as he tried to shift his body into a more comfortable position, but his eyes flew open and his body tensed as he realized he was strapped down. He panicked, thoughts flying into flashing repeats of _‘Oh God oh God they found me, they found me and took me again I thought they had left me alone why am I back here need to run need to escape get out get out GET OUT-’_

 

He thrashed in his bed, trying to yell, but only a hoarse cough came from his dry throat. He didn’t know who ‘they’ were, but he knew it was bad, and meant imminent agony. Immediately Bucky felt someone’s presence next to him, hands on his arm and head. “Shh, shh, Bucky, it’s alright. It’s me, Steve. You’re safe, no one is gonna hurt you.” The voice was deep and soothing, familiar yet not, and Bucky flinched, eyes darting to see who it was and-

 

 _‘Oh.’_ Though his mind was still screaming with panic, his body relaxed against his will as his eyes met Steve’s. His chest heaved with his breath, and he bit his lip hard enough to sting, eyes skittering away from Steve’s face. Closing his eyes, forcing himself to breathe evenly, Bucky tried to calm himself down. This was _Steve_ , Steve who… well… Bucky still didn’t remember anything, which was slightly disappointing, but he remembered Steve and his face, the warmth Bucky felt when he was near, and it was enough.

 

“Hey… you alright? I didn’t mean to scare you,” Steve murmured, hand still on Bucky’s good shoulder. He helped prop Bucky up against the back of the bed, letting go and sitting back down in his chair next to the bed. He was studying Bucky carefully, looking for something that Bucky wasn’t sure was there. It made Bucky uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t remember being, stripped raw and vulnerable.

 

Swallowing, wincing at the dryness, he rasped, “Water?” Steve immediately got up and filled a cup for him in the room’s sink, and Bucky drank it gratefully. After he finished it, he sighed, avoiding eye contact with Steve, never letting his eyes linger too long on his face. “What… what happened?” he asked, hoping no one had been hurt. After having God-only-knows how many years stolen from his memories, any span of time that he couldn’t account for rankled him deeply.

 

“How much do you remember?” Steve countered, his face closed off and cautious, but his eyes hopeful. Ah, so it was going to be this way then. Bucky almost smirked, and for some reason the fact that Steve was playing hardball wasn’t a surprise.

 

Bucky shook his head. “Not much,” he admitted. “I was fighting you in the alley… and… you said that- that phrase… and I... I remembered you, your face, like I had seen it before.” He paused, screwing up his face. “I remember… flashes, different people and places, things that were familiar but I didn’t know why. It hurt.” At that he saw Steve frown, but Bucky just shrugged. He was used to pain at this point. “After that… nothing.” He played with his empty water cup nervously. He didn’t elaborate on what the memories were, on the remembered warmth and love that came with the sight of Steve’s face, the terrifying feeling of being in too deep. Bucky wasn’t sure he himself knew what it all meant, but seeing as he had just woken up, he figured he had time to figure Steve out.

 

Steve sighed, nodding slightly. “Yea, while you were frozen up and… and remembering, I guess, Clint shot you with a tranquilizer arrow. You’ve been out for two days.”

 

Nodding slowly, Bucky hesitantly asked, “And I… I didn’t hurt anyone?” In the past he may not have cared extensively, but in more recent years the fuzzy emotions and half-formed thoughts he had been receiving entailed a visceral reaction against it.

 

“Well,” Steve said, with a small smile and a shrug, “I got roughed up a little bit, but I heal quickly.”

 

Bucky winced, and for the first time noticed the slight bruising and swelling- more healed than not, it looked like- all over Steve’s face. Even without his memories to tell him why, Bucky hated himself in that moment, for hurting something that was so good. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never would have… I mean, if I had known-”

 

Steve flicked his hand through in the air between them. “None of that. It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t know.” Bucky disagreed with that enormously, but he simply bit his lip, staying silent. Steve paused, tilting his head, a warm light in his eyes. “Would you like me to tell you what happened? Or, what I’ve been told happened?” he offered.

 

Hesitantly, Bucky nodded. The thought of being fully aware of what he had done was daunting, even if he wouldn’t remember it himself. Or would the memories come back with the story? That was a whole other frightening concept, but Bucky figured that he owed it to Steve to at least listen to the story.

 

Exhaling noisily, Steve began, “Seven years ago, I was on a mission in Afghanistan to capture or kill Johann Schmidt, head of the terrorist group named Hydra. We found and cleared the base, but when I went downstairs I found an entire network of bombs spread all around the globe, set to detonate and level whole cities in less than five minutes. I ordered my team out and started disarming the bombs. Then… then you showed up,” he gave Bucky a smile, “and told me to get out and save myself. I refused, of course, and finished disarming the network.” Bucky grinned fleetingly at that, once again unsurprised. If he had learned anything, it was that Steve was as stubborn as they come.

 

Now Steve’s smile was strained, and he was fidgeting with the edge of his shirt. “You, uh, you told me that… I was too good for you, and I had… I had the purest soul you’d ever seen?” He laughed awkwardly, shifting in his seat. “Then you just… disappeared. It looked like you were just… pulled backwards into thin air. Then…” He took a breath, looking down at his lap, and Bucky’s fingers twitched with the urge to run a comforting hand down his arm. “Then the base exploded, and… next thing I know, I’m waking up in a hospital seven years later,” he finished, lips twisting bitterly.

 

Bucky stared at the pale blue of the sheets below him, completely unsure of what to do. Steve’ story was an awful one, and Bucky didn’t have to remember anything to hear the distress and pain in his voice. Odd images were also flashing in his mind- a dark basement filled with screens and blinking lights, a desert sky over two Humvees, a tent full of bickering men- making him wince and put a hand to his head. He didn’t know what all of this meant, he didn’t know what to do, Bucky didn’t even know who he _was_ \- it was too much.

 

“I’m just… I’m glad you’re okay,” Steve said, impossibly soft, and Bucky flinched without completely knowing why.

 

Bucky couldn’t explain the restlessness and the itching need to move, or the sheer panic fluttering incessantly behind his diaphragm. “I shouldn’t be here. You don’t need to help me. I should- I should leave….” he started, fidgeting, guilt and anger at himself gnawing away at his insides. He made to go pull the covers back, to get out of the bed, to get away from the man who he knew and felt something for yet had tried to kill.

 

He was stopped by a warm hand on his chest, pushing him back against the bed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bucky. You took care of me for over twenty years, this is the least I can do,” Steve demurred. Bucky continued to gnaw his lip- a somehow familiar gesture- and nodded hesitantly, not trusting his voice. From what he had heard so far, he had been a pretty shitty Angel, if Steve had been in a coma for seven years. Steve didn’t owe Bucky _anything_ , especially after… after the way Bucky had come back and tried to kill him. _Twice_. But Bucky just stayed silent, unsure of even how to begin to apologize for that.

 

Steve stayed all that day, and came back the next. He filled Bucky in on the medical side, all of the tests they were running and what the doctors were saying. He was malnourished and slightly feverish, Steve said, but otherwise in good physical condition. He would be allowed to leave the medical floor within a couple days. At that Steve beamed, his smile fading as Bucky said nothing and slowly shook his head. “What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve asked, tilting his head.

 

But instead… “I like that,” Bucky blurted out, before slapping his hand over his face. God, he was stupid. He was acting like he’d never had a normal conversation before. Well… that may have some truth to it…. Steve simply raised an eyebrow, asking silently for an explanation. Bucky sighed, closing his eyes. “I… I like when you call me ‘Buck’,” he admitted, wincing at how childish he sounded.

 

However, Steve just laughed, and Bucky opened his eyes again. “I’m glad. I’ll make sure to do it more often,” he said, with a warm smile.

 

Giving a shaky grin back, Bucky nodded. “But I… I can’t leave here. Not yet,” he said firmly. That lowered the mood once more, the sparkle that had taken up residence in Steve’s eyes dimming.

 

Steve frowned. “Why not?” He seemed genuinely concerned, and maybe a tad hurt. It was a dangerous combination, one that Bucky had no problem labelling as ‘puppy dog eyes’.

 

“Because….” Bucky started, shrugging slightly. “I still don’t know how dangerous I am. What if I hurt you?”

 

Already shaking his head before Bucky even finished, Steve rebutted, “Bucky, you won’t-”

 

“But you don’t _know_ that Steve,” Bucky snapped, his near-constant anxiety making way for irritation. “What if I wake up from a nightmare, I see your face and still think you’re a threat, and _wham_ ….” He swallowed hard, shaking his head decisively. “No, no, I won’t risk it. Not until I’m ready.” Steve looked like he had swallowed a lemon, but he grudgingly nodded, laying a hand over Bucky’s, which tingled at the contact.

 

Adhering to Bucky’s wishes, Steve didn’t bring it up again, changing the subject to the latest movie he had seen. The casual conversation didn’t come easy to Bucky, as he had no basis for comparison or any (remembered) similar opinions or experiences. But he appreciated Steve’s effort all the same, and let him ramble on about his teammates and life here in the Tower. Everything faded away but the sight of Steve’s smile and the sound of his laugh. Bucky still didn’t know who to trust or what was going to happen to him, but somewhere, deep in his bones, he knew that Steve was one of the good ones, pure and bright, and that Bucky had to do whatever he could to protect him.

 

 _‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise,_ ’ Bucky swore to himself.

 

The morning two days after he had woken up, while Steve was being dragged out kicking and screaming by Sam to go for a run, Bucky started as the door to his room banged open, a short bearded man striding through. His heart leapt in his throat and he reached for a knife no longer there, trembling with adrenaline. It took Bucky a few moments of staring before he recognized the man before him- Tony, as Steve had introduced him- and Bucky greeted him warily, muscles still tensed for a fight. He was on edge- he hadn’t yet been around any other humans besides Steve, and he still didn’t trust himself to act… normal, and safe. Or trust the others not to attack him when Steve was not there.

 

Just when Bucky thought that Tony hadn’t heard him, and he was cataloguing how many ways he could disarm the man, Tony gave him a little salute. “You know,” he started blithely, not even looking up from the tablet that was in his hand, “I have a metal arm prototype just… laying around, in my lab. Been looking for a guinea pig.”

 

Bucky furrowed his brow, mind trying to play catch up. The sudden shift in the conversation brought his mind back from the cold, analytical thoughts he recognized as the Winter Soldier. “You have an arm sitting in your basement?” That didn’t sound safe. Or legal.

 

Scoffing, Tony finally looked up at Bucky, before refocusing on his tablet. With a wave of his fingers, a hologram appeared and filled the room, and a sleek metal arm rotating in front of Bucky’s face. “I had J.A.R.V.I.S. take your measurements- hope you don’t mind- so that this arm would match the size of your real one. It’s got perfect movement, and damn near perfect sensory abilities. Plus I took the liberty of installing a few toys in there. It’s almost ready, so we can begin the procedure to attach it as soon as you’re out of bed-”

 

“Wait!” Bucky called out, raising his arm, feeling his heart race and his breathing speed up. “Jesus, settle down. I… you’re giving me a new arm? A metal one?” His eyes flitted all over the floating arm in wonder, right hand itching to reach out and touch it (even though he knew he couldn’t).

 

Tony looked at him like he was dimwitted. “Uh, yeah. Technical genius over here.”

 

Bucky swallowed, instantly (annoyingly) overcome. “But why? Won’t that make me… more dangerous?” He hated how weak his voice got at the end, and he winced, eyes flicking to different points of the room. He refused to do anything to put anyone else in harm’s way, especially Steve.

 

That made Tony frown, and he walked closer to Bucky, waving away the hologram and setting the tablet down on the end of his bed. “You’re not dangerous, Bucky,” Tony stated, looking serious.

 

Frowning, Bucky protested, “But I just-”

 

Talking over him, Tony continued, “Sure, you’ve done some bad and dangerous things, but _you’re_ not dangerous. It’s easy to blame yourself even when things are out of your control.” Bucky had a sudden flash of missiles and explosions in a cave, but it was gone as soon as it appeared, and he blinked hard. Tony was still looking seriously at him, one eyebrow raised.

 

“Okay,” was all Bucky could say, weak and flustered. Tony beamed at him, starting talking a mile a minute again about schematics and tools and _two days, Righty_. Bucky felt breathless, like he’d just finished running, staring at the now glaringly empty room. _‘Christ, that guy’s like a whirlwind,’_ he thought dazedly.

 

When Bucky hesitantly told Steve about it that afternoon, Steve beamed so hard Bucky thought his face would split. It was infectious, and Bucky felt himself smiling back, his heart fluttering in his chest, a new feeling that wasn’t exactly bad. Bucky decided he would do what he could to keep that smile on Steve’s face.

 

The operation went smoothly, the catastrophe that was Tony’s lab making it easier for Bucky to draw the line between what was real and what were just panicked memories that his addled mind provided him. It took several hours, Tony using only a local anesthetic so that Bucky could be awake, chattering away distractingly as he soldered and sparked away on Bucky’s arm. It was all almost too overwhelming for Bucky, so he mostly sat in silence, focused on his breathing and trying not to crawl out of his skin. Tony didn’t seem to mind the lack of responses to his meaningless nattering, cheerily exclaiming when he had finished attaching all of the wires and plating.

 

Staring in wonder, Bucky lifted his arm and clenched his fist, feeling his heart jump as the metal actually did as he told it. He flexed and rolled his joints, watching with amazement as the plates moved and shifted, calibrating to his thoughts and muscles. The movement was nearly the same as his flesh arm, and he couldn’t keep his mouth closed. “T-thank you,” Bucky whispered, blinking away a strange burning sensation in his eyes, one that he had come to associate with tears.

 

Tony cleared his throat, waving a hand, stiffly turning away. “No need to get weepy, Robocop. Just trying to help.”

 

After that, it became a little easier. Or, the physical things did, at least. Bucky had to do physical therapy tasks to improve the connections between his nerves and the circuits of the arm, and by the end of the week he could just as easily crush a pool ball as gently pick up a plum. Steve was immensely proud of each and every new checkpoint, and his attention made Bucky blush often (which in and of itself was a strange thing- when it had first happened it had slightly scared him, before he remembered seeing the reaction on others in the past years).

 

He also had to go to regular therapy, to cope with losing his memory and living on the run for nine years. That was harder than physical therapy, even with how horrible some of the exercises could be. It was difficult to talk about emotions that he had no words for, ones he had never remembered feeling before or knew what to do with. He got overwhelmed often, crying easily and experiencing mood swings at the drop of a hat. It was mentally exhausting, but Steve constantly reassured him: it was normal, especially if he had no experience with how to deal with all of these new emotions and feelings.

 

It didn’t make Bucky feel any less weak or pitiful, and when Steve pointed out that it didn’t make him weak, Bucky snapped back at him, asking why _‘Steve himself didn’t go, then?’_ Steve was silent for several minutes, before sighing and agreeing ruefully to _‘just giving it a try’._ Bucky counted it has a great victory, as he had observed that Steve absolutely refused to show weakness in front of others, even if help was necessary. It drove Bucky _crazy_.

 

It took a good two weeks after Bucky had had his arm attached, three weeks after he had first been brought in, to feel secure enough, in both his surroundings and in himself, to venture out of his ‘apartment’ on the medical floor. Steve had visited him every damn day, staying for hours to just sit in silence, watch movies, or share memories of his past (which both warmed Bucky to the core and filled him with rage because he couldn’t remember them himself). But now Bucky was heading out to the common floor more and more often, finally trying to integrate himself into the life that Steve had built for himself here. _‘Without me.’_ The thought was bitter, and he hated himself for begrudging Steve any of this happiness.

 

Over the weeks he met each member of the team, all of them introducing themselves in different ways. Jane and Darcy had immediately dragged him into their lab, interrogating him about stars and celestial energy. Though he didn’t remember any of his time as an Angel itself, he found he still had vast amounts of knowledge that came from (supposedly) living for over a million years, things like languages and recipes and historical events (it was enough to make his head spin when he thought about it). Clint taught him about video games, and Bucky got the hang of it quickly and was wiping the floor with everyone in no time; Steve was abysmal at video games, even first person shooters. Tony, well, they had spent many hours together- maybe more than Bucky would have wanted- in Tony’s lab, attaching and updating his arm. Bucky had yet to meet Pepper, though Rhodey had stopped by, merely offering his condolences and a place on the team somewhere in the future. Bucky had gaped at him, before shaking his hand and stammering his thanks. But Bucky was sure that his days of fighting and harming others, even if it was in the name of good, were over. Sam had clapped him on the shoulder, introduced himself as Steve’s best friend, and offered an ear if Bucky ever wanted to talk. Bucky had nodded, pressing his lips together, and shrugged out from under Sam’s hand.

 

Bucky could no longer see auras or Grace, could no longer hear thoughts or manipulate the Planes or space around him, and his senses were only as astute as a normal human’s. These were facts, things that had turned up in their research, even if he didn’t quite remember what each of those things felt like (just a faint buzzing like a missing piece of him). The lack of information and sensory input made him jittery and anxious, and so he was stuck to wonder why Sam felt as strange as he did. None of the other humans in the Tower were that way: he got along quite well with Barton (the two often found crawling in the vents together or throwing darts in increasingly complex patterns), he and Tony had a mutual understanding through sarcasm and tinkering, and Jane and Darcy loved having him visit and help them in their research. But he stayed away from Sam, and though Steve gave him odd looks for it, he never commented, and Sam never pushed it.

 

Something about Sam seemed to put Bucky on alert, though, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The man was kind and quiet, and it was obvious that Steve cared for him deeply (Bucky sincerely tried to ignore anything else that might be going on, though in his darkest moments he couldn’t help but envy Sam in a number of ways, but _really_ , that wasn’t why). But there was something… off about him. Every time Sam was near to him, Bucky’s hair stood up on end, and a feeling like bugs crawling over him spread through him.

 

Of course, he spent plenty of time with Steve. They went on walks around the city, sat and read together, discovered movies that they both had missed, and ate meals together more often than not. Bucky still couldn’t bring back more than the barest flashes of images and feelings from the past; he never remembered full events or moments, seconds of audio or a fleeting glimpse of an event the most that he could see, and almost never voluntarily. But he knew that this feeling- the warmth curling through his chest, the way his heart stuttered whenever Steve laughed, the itching desire in his skin to touch and feel- was not new. It was not new, it had lingered through it all, and now… now Bucky could not act on it. What could Steve possibly ever want to do with him, a broken spirit and Fallen Angel?

 

It made somewhere deep ache within Bucky, but he shoved it down, just as he knew he must have been doing for many years before now. The feeling of love was no stranger to Bucky, no, but he still couldn’t act on it, even free of Heaven’s rules. He swallowed his hurt, ignored his desires, and just accepted the time he was given with Steve, feeling gratitude and appreciation that he even got this second chance. It was like getting to know Steve a second time (even if he didn’t remember the first time), so he savored every moment he could, every smile and nudge, making new memories. It was enough- it had to be.

 

So, instead, he focused on getting better, relearning human interaction and feelings, making friends, and carving out a life for himself. It was the least he could do for Steve, who had risked so much for him.

 

Besides, Steve still spent a lot of time with Sam, and Bucky wouldn’t want to ruin that for Steve as well.

 

* * *

 

 

2014- May

 

Natasha watched attentively through the pool as Bucky slept peacefully in his bed. She was pleased with the way things had turned around, and was satisfied that Bucky would be alright in his new home. It was the least she could do, after all, for all that had happened to him. Now that Bucky was settling in, she had the next big item on her to-do list. Calling to their minds, she summoned her garrison to her in the Garden. They all weren’t too far away, as now that most of their charges were in the same building it was easy to keep an eye on them all.

 

Looking at her team’s faces around her, all of them looking brighter and more hopeful than they had in almost ten years (Bucky was loved more than he knew), a fondness for all of them rose in her. Which she refused to indulge in, of course. Instead, she shook herself, saying “Alright, now that Bucky is back and recovering nicely, we have another job to do.” She paused receiving confused yet eager looks. “It’s time that someone made some changes around here.” The garrison all looked at one another, letting sharp grins spread across their faces, before nodding slightly and flying as one to Fury’s office.

 

Once there, they were surprised to find Betty waiting for them outside, but she simply gave them a jaunty wave, saying, “Bucky was my friend too, you know. I want to help in any way I can.” Bruce was staring at her in open awe, while Natasha gave her a little grin and Thor slapped her on the shoulder with a laugh. Pietro opened the door for everyone, standing tall even though he was the youngest one by a million years in the room.

 

Fury looked up as they all strode in, and he groaned aloud and closed his eye, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Every time this garrison is involved in something, something bad happens or I get a shit load of reports to file.” Glaring at them, he asked, “What the hell do you want? You’ve even got a Power with you this time,” eyes flicking to Betty and back to Natasha.

 

Shoulders back, Natasha simply said, “Things need to change.”

 

Fury raised his eyebrow. “As in….”

 

Narrowing her eyes, Natasha walked forward to lean into his personal space. “You know as well as I do that Heaven is corrupt. Angels like Pierce wander freely, allowed to abuse their power and do whatever the hell they want. Angels, even young ones like Pietro, are Punished severely for merely caring too much about their charges, humans that they’re _supposed_ to care about. The Archangels don’t even care about us or the humans anymore, and Heaven as a whole is rotting,” she hissed. “I don’t know if you higher ups have _noticed_ , but-”

 

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” Fury interrupted, continuing to glare. “Why do you think I’ve let your garrison have so much freedom? It’s one of the few left that aren’t filled with black-hearted bastards.”

 

Thor made a noise that could either be a scoff or a laugh. “And what good has that done?” Fury looked somewhat thrown that Thor had talked back to him, or that he was being ganged up on.

 

“Though my division has less room for such corruption,” Betty said, stepping forward, “even I have noticed it. Angels are getting greedy and selfish, twisting their roles for their own personal gain rather than the humans’, and it will only get worse from here.”

 

Looking nervous, though he tried to hide it, Pietro said, “Sir, all I wanted to do was reach my sister, to ease some of her distress. That is what us Guardians are for, is it not? Even I, a newcomer, can see that this is not right.” Now Fury’s eye was on the youngest Angel, gaze softening the smallest amount.

 

Natasha saw her chance. “You need to start changing things. Get rid of the ‘black-hearted bastards’, get rid of all the ridiculous rules, start making things _better_. You can’t just sit on your ass and mope about it.” Then ensued what could only be described as a staring contest, neither one relenting. Finally, Fury sighed, leaning back in his chair.

 

Drawing a hand over his face, he muttered, “It’s not that easy. I can only extend so much authority, so I can’t change more than this part of the system. Maybe other divisions can-”

 

“With all due respect, sir, this whole system is shit. It needs to be taken down _now_. This isn’t just for Bucky, this is for everyone here.” Bruce interrupted fiercely. Betty grinned at that, while Pietro and Thor nodded solemnly.

 

“How the hell do you expect me to do that?” he demanded, crossing his arms. “I may be a Ruler, but there are still Archangels and other first-sphere Angels above me, I can’t just go changing things any time I want.”

 

The suggestions came flying immediately from all around the room: remove most of the Punishment division and replace them with reputable Angels, ease up on the rules concerning Angels’ emotions and their charges, make the council in charge of doling out Punishments more impartial and fair, require all Angels to come in for inspection in order to weed out the ones with bad intentions and attitudes.

 

Fury looks disbelievingly around at everyone. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered, shaking his head. Running a hand roughly over his head, he mumbled to himself for a moment (probably cursing them all), before looking back up at them with a grim expression. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. But only because I can’t stand fuckin’ Pierce, and all of the rules are old and stuffy anyway.” Thor and Pietro grinned at the obvious excuses, but Natasha refused to revel in victory yet.

 

“One more thing,” Natasha said, and Fury rolled his eye. “I want to give Bucky back his memories.”

 

Snorting, Fury shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

 

“Sir, he has been Punished quite enough-”

 

Pointing at Pietro, Fury snapped, “And for good reason. Everyone has been Punished at one point or another; it’s how we keep the peace.”

 

Thor crossed his arms, looming over Fury. “And yet no Punishment has ever been so severe as Bucky’s. It is known that Pierce and Rumlow harbor grudges against Bucky, that they are generally vile and untrustworthy, and for that his Punishment was obviously unfair.”

 

“Yea, and they’ll be the first Angels I kick out of here.” Fury muttered, still pushing back against their pressure.

 

Betty, voice rising angrily, said, “Bucky was not only our friend, but an amazing Guardian Angel. He’s served Heaven in its army and as a Guardian faithfully for over a million years. Don’t you think he deserves better than this?” she demanded.

 

Bruce piped up, drawing Fury’s (and Betty’s) attention once more, his voice wry as he said, “Don’t you think it would actually be beneficial, seeing as it could prevent him from making any more mistakes, and-”

 

“Alright, alright!” Fury snapped, though he didn’t appear to be as angry as he could be. Natasha could just be projecting, but it seemed that Fury had just been protesting for appearance’s sake. He had said himself their garrison was always a soft spot, and perhaps this Ruler was even less content with the state of affairs in Heaven than previously thought. “You may give him back a century, but no more. God only knows what that many memories would do to a mere human mind.”

 

There were various relieved smiles and murmurs from the group, and Natasha nodded, a small but genuine smile on her face. “Thank you, Nick,” she said. Fury grunted and waved a hand, but sent her a quick smile all the same.

 

Betty was still staring at Bruce, who seemed oblivious to the attention, still overjoyed at being able to help his friend. An exasperated yet fond smile crossed her face, before Betty said, “That was some nice work, Bruce.” Thor and Natasha raised their eyebrows at one another, wondering if this was finally the moment.

 

Bruce blushed slightly and murmured his thanks. Pietro, looking between them, rolled his eyes and shoved Bruce in her direction, giving him a meaningful look. Bruce looked terrified, but he stepped towards Betty, fidgeting with his shirt. “Betty, ah, I was- I was wondering if-”

 

Instead of letting him finish, or answering his question (they all knew what it was to be), Betty yanked him forward by his lapels, crushing their mouths together in a kiss. Pietro and Thor whooped while Natasha rolled her eyes fondly, and Fury made vague disgusted mutterings from his desk. The two broke off after another minute, both flushed and smiling. Pietro punched Bruce on the arm, who chuckled and pulled Betty to his side. The moment was nice, though it couldn’t last.

 

“Congratulations!” Thor boomed, as Natasha muttered, “It’s about damn time,” before stepping away to leave. It was an unspoken agreement that Natasha would be the one to do it, since she had always been the closest to Bucky. Waving shortly to the rest of her garrison, hiding her apprehension behind a confident mask, Natasha flew herself down to Earth. She landed in Bucky’s bedroom, since he was there alone, and walked up to the bed. Reaching out, before she could let the nerves or excitement get to her, she ran a hand through his hair gently, calling quietly, “Bucky.”

 

He woke with a start, eyes wide with panic before he registered his surroundings. Perhaps he had been in the middle of a nightmare, since Natasha could see (and it was so strange, because Bucky was normally so careful about controlling what others could see) brown, lime green, and burnt orange still drifting around him. He stared at her in confusion, before faint recognition dawned on his features. “I… I know you….” he whispered, studying her face with narrowed eyes.

 

Swallowing down the hurt that his confusion created in her, Natasha nodded. “My name is Natasha… I was in your garrison, in Heaven. I’m Clint’s Angel.” Even now, the designation still sent a happy trill in her Grace that made her want to scoff at herself.

 

Bucky nodded jerkily, no true recognition or remembrance of their millennia spent together in his eyes. “Okay… sorry, I’m not… I’m not getting anything….” He grimaced up at her, shrugging apologetically.

 

Natasha made herself smile. “It’s alright, I didn’t expect anything,” she lied. Well, she had hoped…. “But, I came here to give you your memories back.”

 

His eyes went wide, and he abruptly seemed nervous, the lime green and brown in his aura swirling faster. “My… my memories? You can do that?” he asked incredulously, gripping the bedsheet.

 

Humming in affirmation, she explained, “To an extent. I can give you the last century, so you’ll remember all of Steve’s live, and almost all of Peggy’s, your last charge,” she elaborated at the confused furrowing of his brow. “Any more than that might be too much for a human mind to handle.”

 

Letting out a slow breath, Bucky said, “So, I’ll remember everything?” Natasha nodded, watching him carefully. “Even- even the torture?” he asked, voice less steady than before. Natasha nodded again, though her mouth twisted sympathetically. That was an unfortunate fact, but if it was her, it was better than a black nothingness. But it wasn’t her call.

 

Bucky deliberated, picking at the bed sheets. “But you said I’ll get all of Steve.”

 

“Yes,” she said softly, laying a hand on his arm. Even if he couldn’t remember her yet, he was still her best friend, and she hated seeing him like this. Especially because it was her fault.

 

After another moment, he met her eyes, his expression tense but trusting. “Then, yes. Give them to me.” Natasha raised an eyebrow, but then smiled slightly at him, pleased. It would be good to have Bucky remember her again, even if it was for such a short period of their time together. She lay her left hand on his forehead, calling the incantation to mind.

 

Just then the door banged opened, and Steve entered, half asleep in his pajamas. “Bucky, are you okay? J.A.R.V.I.S. said he heard voices….” He trailed off as he caught sight of Natasha, mouth falling open. “Oh… hello… again.”

 

Natasha looked sideways at him, holding up a hand as a peace offering. “I’m just here to give Bucky back some of his memories, I promise.” She had seen what Steve would do to protect Bucky, and now was not the time for Steve to ‘lose it’, as it were.

 

Steve gaped at her, then at Bucky. “His… his memories?”

 

“Just some of them,” Bucky said, “just the last century.”

 

“Oh….” Steve whispered, still looking dumbfounded. “Are you sure, Buck?” he asked, and Natasha knew that he, too, was thinking of the torture. _‘At least he has someone looking after him,’_ she thought to herself.

 

Bucky nodded, eyes flicking to Natasha again. “I’m sure, Stevie. This way I’ll at least remember you.” Steve inhaled sharply at that, but nodded in return, coming forward to hold Bucky’s hand.

 

“This will hurt,” Natasha warned, before speaking the incantation and letting her Grace flow through her hand into Bucky. He immediately froze, arching his back as all of his muscles tensed, and let out a scream. Steve looked panicked, grinding his teeth as he held Bucky’s hand, his fear visible in the muddy aura surrounding him. Luckily, it was over soon enough, Bucky slumping back to the bead, breathing harshly… but smiling.

 

Reaching for her, he murmured, “Natasha. _Natalia_. I can’t… I can’t thank you enough.” His aura was bright swirls of magenta, light blue, and light yellow, almost blinding in its intensity.

 

Giving him a thin lipped smile, Natasha just shook her head. “I’m sorry….” she murmured, running a hand through his hair once more. She wasn’t talking about just the pain of the memories.

 

Bucky seemed to still know how to read her better than anyone, as he shook his head, catching her hand and giving it a kiss. “Don’t be. It was my dumbass decision that did this. You didn’t know. And… you’ve given me back my memories- that’s more than I could have hoped for.” Grinning sadly at her, he released her hand, wrapping his back around Steve’s. “Now go and do your Heavenly duty, before you get into trouble. I’ll be fine, thanks to you.”

 

Natasha smiled back at him, relief and sadness and hope coursing through her, making it hard to keep herself together. She flew away to visit Clint for some comfort, leaving Bucky and Steve hugging tightly on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	12. Chapter 12

_Dark and bruised_

_though this heart be,_

_always with you_

_it longs to be_

 

2014- May

 

The first thing Thor decided to do with his new freedom was visit Darcy. The girl was long overdue some answers, and besides, Thor _was_ incredibly fond of her and was eager to meet her. Flying down to Darcy’s lab, he materialized in the corner, waiting for her to look up from her computer program as her fingers flew across the keys. He was simultaneously reluctant to interrupt her work and quote amused watching her, the way she muttered to herself and flicked the screen she was looking at. It took nearly fifteen minutes before she looked up from her work, reaching for her coffee thermos, and when she spotted Thor standing placidly in the corner, she let out a loud scream.

 

Immediately concerned, Thor stepped forward. “Lady Darcy, I mean you no harm-”

 

But Darcy wasn’t listening, already yanking her Taser out of the purse slung across the back of her chair. “Dude, I don’t know who you are or how you got in here, but I have a Taser and I am _not_ afraid to use it.”

 

Thor couldn’t help but grin fondly at his charge, brown, burnt orange, and red sparking around her as she glared at him. “Please, calm yourself, Darcy,” he said, holding up his hands. “My name is Thor- I believe my Jane has told you about me?”

 

It took several seconds for it to compute, but then Darcy let her arms fall to her sides, mouth a small ‘o’ of surprise. “You’re… _you’re_ Thor?” She looked him up and down, before quirking an eyebrow. “Damn, Jane did well for herself,” she murmured, shooting Thor a wink. A moment passed before Darcy shrugged, turning to put her Taser back in her purse. “If you’re looking for her, she’s off in another lab a few floors down, on account of I said no explosions in this one,” Darcy told him over his shoulder.

 

Shaking his head, he dragged a chair over from a nearby table and sat down across the table from Darcy. “No, I am here to visit you.” At that Darcy looked back at him, eyes widening in surprise.

 

“What? Why?” she asked, lime green now threading through her aura. “I didn’t do anything, I swear.”

 

Thor chuckled. “No, you are not in trouble. But, seeing as there have been… some changes in Heaven, I thought it only fitting that I reveal myself to you.”

 

Darcy still looked confused, tilting her head. “Um… alright? Well, nice to finally meet you, Jane’s boyfriend, I’m her best friend.” She held out a hand with much flare, which Thor shook with amusement.

 

“I appreciate it, but that is still not why I am here. I wanted to come to you as your Guardian Angel.” Thor finally said, letting his Grace glow slightly, illuminating the room.

 

At that, Darcy’s jaw dropped again, her eyes was wide as they could go. “I… I have a Guardian Angel?” she squeaked. “I figured… I just figured I didn’t really need one… I mean, I’m not super important….” she trailed off, shrugging and tucking a piece of hair behind her hair. “I’m sure Guarding Jane is much more fun.”

 

Frowning, Thor reached over and placed a hand on Darcy’s forearm. “Darcy, that is not true at all. I have greatly enjoyed watching you grow and prosper, and I have rarely been prouder of a charge.” Darcy regarded him with wide eyes, bottom lip between her teeth. “You and Jane were both assigned to me, because while separate you may not have accomplished as much, _together_ you are unbeatable, an amazing asset to anyone to have you. I was overjoyed when you found each other again and started working together, and I have just come to love you both even more since,” Thor said softly, gently squeezing Darcy’s arm.

 

Her gaze was slightly wet now, and she cleared her throat twice before speaking. “Wow… that’s uh… that’s quite the speech,” she muttered. Taking a large breath, she shook her head once, a smile spreading across her face. “But… thank you, Thor, for everything. Even if I don’t know all of it, I probably wouldn’t be here- in this Tower, working with all of my friends- without you,” Darcy said. She then darted around the table, reaching out to pull Thor into a hug.

 

Beaming, Thor wrapped her in his arms, squeezing her tightly yet gently. “It was truly my pleasure, Darcy.” They stayed like that for a moment or two, before Darcy pulled away, a slight blush to her cheeks. It was also at that moment that Thor felt another presence in the room, someone hiding in the Planes that did not want to be seen, yet wasn’t completely shielding themselves. _‘Loki….’_ Swallowing hard, Thor steeled himself, knowing that this was also a conversation he needed to have. “Loki, I know you are watching us. Reveal yourself, brother, so that we may have words,” Thor called, eyes scanning the otherwise empty lab.

 

Darcy jumped at his voice, before looking around the room, confused. With an eerie green glow (Thor rolled his eyes at his brother’s theatrics) Loki materialized into view in the opposite corner of the lab, already scowling. Thor watched him sadly as he pulled himself to his feet, his cautious hope that they would be able to reconcile wavering the slightest bit. Loki simply stared coldly back, impassive, the slightest sneer on his lips. There was a prickly silence between the inhabitants of the room that lasted whole minutes, and Darcy broke it by sighing loudly and crossing her arms.

 

“Alright, pissing contest, _over_.” She beckoned with her hand, to Loki, who twisted up his mouth but came anyway. Grabbing onto his hand, she pulled him to her side and brought him closer to Thor. Thor stayed silent, drinking in the sight of his brother, hoping that he could salvage this. “Loki, this is Thor, he’s apparently my Guardian Angel. Thor, this is Loki, who I guess is technically my boyfriend. But, I mean you guys obviously know each other, but _Jesus_ the tension is too damn high.” She fell into awkward silence after that, the two Angels still staring at each other, and Thor could see Darcy’s lavender and lime green aura swirling around in the corner of his eye.

 

Clearing his throat, Thor held out his hand. “Loki….” He trailed off, not knowing what to say. Loki had done terrible things, both to Heaven and the humans on Earth, but Thor still loved him, and wished to be reconciled more than _anything_. He didn’t how to do it, or if it was even possible, but he would spend all of his days trying to make up for his mistakes if he had to.

 

“Thor….” Loki said back, mockingly. Darcy pinched his side, making him glare down at her. She simply glared back, jerking her head towards Thor, her eyes wide in an expression that said _‘get on with it’_.

 

Shifting his weight, Thor started, “Brother, I wished to… I wished to apologize to you, to try and-”

 

But Loki merely sneered at Thor’s offered hand, crossing his arms to his chest, an old anxious tell he had not managed to stop. It made Thor’s lips twitch up, even as he let his hand fall back to his side. “It is not that simple, Thor,” Loki said, glaring him down. “You have wronged me in many ways- not coming to my defense before the Rulers and Archangels, not coming to me where I was banished on this godforsaken planet, and then acting as if _you_ are the one who deserves pity and aid.” Loki’s teeth were bared now, his green eyes shining dangerously. “I have despised you for many a millennia now.”

 

Thor swallowed, lowering his gaze. “I know that, brother, and I cannot put into words how sorry I am,” he murmured. Letting down his guard, he allowed Loki to see his aura, the churning lights of burgundy, dark yellow, grey, and dark blue on clear view. Green eyes widened slightly at that, but Loki did not say anything, merely kept watching Thor warily. “I know I have wronged you, though I will not admit to being completely at fault.” At that Loki’s eye twitched, but again he did not say anything. “I have missed you for more years than are countable; any one of my garrison could tell you how much. Please, let me help you. There are changes being made in Heaven, rules being changed and discarded. Let us heal this rift between us,” he pleaded, his eyes now searching his brother’s face.

 

Though he had never been one for words, Thor had been imagining and practicing his admission for weeks, ever since he had planned to call upon Loki. He knew it might not be good enough, for Loki was still the Silvertongue, with an amazing ability to bend words to his will; he would easily be able to see through any pretense. Letting himself be vulnerable, showing his thoughts and aura to Loki, Thor hoped to use his best method of communication, action, to get his point across.

 

Loki’s face was impassive, though Darcy reached up and wrapped a hand around his left arm, offering some sort of comfort. He watched Thor carefully for a few moments without saying anything, before saying, “What do you hope to gain out of this?” His voice was rougher than before, and he swallowed heavily after he spoke.

 

Letting a tired smile spread over his face, Thor admitted, “I do not know. I merely wish to be able to see and speak with my brother, to spend time with you as when we were younger. Things are changing in Heaven now, as I said, and perhaps-”

 

“ _No_.” Loki’s harsh snap interrupted Thor, and Darcy tightened her grip on her lover. “I will not go back there. It is corrupt and faithless; it has not truly been home for _anyone_ for thousands of years.”

 

Thor nodded- he agreed with Loki, how could he not? One would have to be blind to see how much Heaven had fallen. Perhaps they could revisit the issue, somewhere far in the future, after things had changed once again. “Loki, I know you have no reason to trust me beyond my own word, but I beg of you- let go of the past. You were wronged, I let you be harmed, and I have agonized over your fate every day since. Please, Loki, come home,” Thor implored him. He wasn’t referring to Heaven.

 

Falling silent once again, Loki’s gaze fell to the floor. Darcy frowned, tugging slightly on Loki’s sleeve. He leaned down to her, and she whispered into his ear. Thor looked away, refusing to eavesdrop. The two shared several minutes of sharp conversation, never rising above a muffled whisper. The longer it went the more Thor worried, but he didn’t interrupt, sincerely trying to ingratiate himself to Loki once again.

 

Loki clearing his throat brought Thor’s attention back to him, and Loki looked stiff and uncomfortable, while Darcy looked smug, purple and light blue swimming in the air around her. Thor waited for Loki to speak, knowing his brother would when he was ready. “I….” Loki started, closing his eyes as if he could not believe his own words, “I will go with you, if you wish, to… discuss matters. That is all I can promise,” he warned.

 

But Thor was already beaming, happiness showing in the way his Grace brightened the room around them. “That sounds wonderful, Loki. We may… ‘discuss’,” Thor repeated, and he would swear to anyone that he saw Loki’s lips twitch- just for a second.

 

* * *

 

 

Pietro’s first mission was to immediately visit his sister, of course. He hadn’t seen her since he had died, and hadn’t tried since he was Punished for it all those years ago. He was simultaneously excited beyond belief and terrified; he didn’t know how Wanda would take this, what she would say or do. But he was more than willing to risk it. Pietro had always done whatever it took to help and protect his sister, even before he was turned into a Guardian Angel. If she rejected him, then… then that was that. It would destroy him, but he would continue to watch from above, not interfering more than necessary. He could do that, for her.

 

He landed in her studio apartment, a cheap one that she had found years ago somewhat near NYU while she had been attending the university. Pietro wandered deeper into the apartment, gently calling out, “Wanda? Wanda, it’s me, Pietro.” He heard a gasp and a _thud_ , as if something had been dropped, and within seconds he saw Wanda cautiously stepping out from behind the curtain that divided her ‘bedroom’ from the rest of the apartment. As soon as she came into view Pietro froze, wings twitching where they were still hidden behind his projection. She looked just as pretty as usual, though she looked tired- probably from staying up all night reading case files for the police department she worked for. He drank her in, relishing the opportunity to be in the same room as her once more.

 

When Wanda saw him, however, her hands flew to her mouth, and tears immediately welled in her eyes. “It… it can’t be. You’re dead….” she whispered, and her aura was a tumult of dark blue, black, and grey. Her breathing picked up, and she shook her head rapidly. “I’m hallucinating, I must be,” she muttered shakily, unable to tear her gaze away from Pietro. Her lips pressed together firmly to keep them from trembling, though her eyes were anguished.

 

Her reaction broke Pietro’s metaphorical heart, and he felt even worse about leaving her all these years. “Wanda, please, it’s me. I can explain.” He took a step forward, holding out his hands pleadingly.

 

“No!” Wanda shouted, hands fisted in her hair, and Pietro froze where he stood. “Whoever you are, this is a sick joke, and I- I will _not-_ ” A sob interrupted her, and she closed her eyes, turning away from Pietro with a hand pressed against her mouth.

 

Walking quietly towards her, Pietro explained softly, “I did die, that is correct. But I… I was brought back as a Guardian Angel, _your_ Angel.” He reached out and gently touched her arm, but she jerked away from him, chest heaving in fright and grief. Swallowing his own despair, he said, “Here, let me prove it to you.”

 

Letting his arms fall to his side and his head tip backwards, Pietro let his projection thin, his Grace and wings shining through, just the barest glimpse so as not to hurt Wanda’s vision. The light filled the small apartment, and he could see the large shadows of his wings reflected in Wanda’s eyes. She was now gaping, arms hanging loosely at her sides. “What….” he said weakly, eyes large and dark in her pale face. “It’s not possible….” she repeated.

 

Pietro held out his arms in front of him, a sad smile on his face. “Like I said, I’m an Angel. I’ve been watching over you since I died. I’ve… I’ve missed you terribly, Wanda.” He swallowed, looking at her hopefully.

 

She continued to watch him, fear and the tiniest strand of lavender hope spinning around her head. It only took a few more seconds for Wanda to crumble. “I… I cannot believe it,” Wanda breathed, running forward and throwing her arms around him. “I do not know if I _can_ believe it.” She squeezed him impossibly tight, clinging to him with the desperation of a twin long separated.

 

Reaching around her to hug her just as tightly, Pietro closed his eyes, soaking in the closeness he had missed so much. Simply watching over Wanda had not been enough; he had missed hugging her and tugging her hair and throwing her over his shoulder when she was being irksome. “I promise you, this is all real.”

 

Wanda sniffed, burying her face in his shoulder. “Why have you not come to visit me before?” she asked plaintively.

 

Sighing, Pietro replied, “The rules in Heaven are very strict. I was not allowed contact at all, you could now know I was there.” He paused and swallowed, deliberating on how much to tell his sister. “I… I tried, once, years ago. I flew down to see you, and landed in your room, but before I could speak I was- taken. For Punishment.” Wanda gasped, digging her fingertips into his back.

He _shush_ ed her, running a hand down his hair. “But things have… things have gone down in Heaven, big changes being made, so now I will be able to visit you more often,” he murmured into her hair.

 

She pulled away, staring at him with wide, hopeful eyes, tear tracks still on her cheeks. She looked impossibly young like this, like the teenager that Pietro remembered from years ago. “R-really? You… you won’t leave me again?”

 

Pietro shook his head fiercely, dropping a kiss on her head. “Never again. You are my sister, the most important person in the universe. We have all the time in the world to catch up.” Wanda sniffled, punching him lightly on the arm, though she was smiling. Grinning down at her, he winked, mood lifting immediately. He had been so concerned on how she would receive him, but his sister had not let him down. Pietro shouldn’t have doubted her for a second.

 

Now, he wanted to return the favor. He’d had this idea for a while now, and he was fairly certain that it would work. “But _first_ , there are some people I want you to meet. They can give you a job, even a place to live if you wish!” Pietro exclaimed. Before she could ask what he meant or where they were going, Pietro grabbed hold of her, whipping open his wings and flying across the city.

 

They landed in the common area of the Tower, Wanda stumbling at the messy landing. Everyone turned around to stare at them in various states of shock and wonder. “Ah, hello, I was told to come here for a job offer? My name is Wanda Maximoff,” Wanda hesitantly said, giving a small wave and stepping closer to her brother.

 

“And my name is Pietro. I’m her Guardian Angel, one of Bucky’s friends,” he added from her side. That seemed to relax some of the tension and confusion in the room, but all eyes were still on them. He could see the lime green coming off of his sister in waves, so he grabbed her hand, letting calming Grace flow into her. She relaxed against him, squeezing his hand in return.

 

Tony was the first to speak, unsurprisingly. “What’ve you got, kid?” he asked, walking towards them.

 

Glancing at Pietro, who squeezed her hand back and nodded slightly, Wanda replied, “I studied Philosophy and Psychology at NYU, and now I work as a consultant for the NYPD.” Pietro grinned at Tony, sure that the genius would see the good in his sister and take her in as well. Wanda could get by on her own, but she would do better with the stability and friendships that Stark Tower could offer.

 

Nodding, Tony stroked his beard thoughtfully, though Pietro could see by his yellow and aqua aura that he was just playing around. There was a reason that Pietro had brought Wanda here, and it was because he knew that Tony Stark loved to collect misfits and others like him, to form them into a makeshift family here. And that was exactly what Wanda needed, even if Pietro could now visit her. She needed normal- well, semi-normal- people in her life.

 

Tony snapped his fingers. “I can work with that. You can keep doing that, part-time, but here you can help us screen new employees, and, hey, don’t we need a new PR Assistant?” he called behind his shoulder.

 

Pepper, moving her soft smile from Tony to Wanda, said, “Absolutely. We can get you settled in here as soon as possible.”

 

Wanda gaped, even as Pietro reached up to ruffle her hair (which he knew she still hated). “I- it’s that easy?” she asked, looking halfway to shock.

 

A man who Pietro assumed was Sam, from his position on the couch, chuckled, saying, “Don’t worry, it’s a trap. Living with all these guys? Crazy.” He shook his head, but was still smiling.

 

Hesitantly smiling back at him, Wanda nodded. “Alright, then. Thank you, thank you very much,” she said, reaching out to shake Tony’s hand in a daze. Tony instead ruffled her hair too before walking away, making Pietro snicker and Wanda turn and smack him on the chest.

 

While they were scuffling, Bucky and Steve walked in. Bucky froze at the sight of Pietro while Steve eyed them curiously. “Oh my God, _Pietro_!” Bucky’s call made Pietro look up from his tussle with Wanda, and a blinding grin crossed the Angel’s face.

 

Bucky immediately came over to him and wrapped him in a hug, Wanda taking a step back, watching them with interest. Pietro closed his eyes as he embraced Bucky tightly; he hadn’t seen him since before Bucky’s Punishment, and ten years still felt like a long time to such a young Angel. Bucky was his leader and mentor, yes, but he was also Pietro’s dear friend and older brother rolled into one. Pietro would never forget how much easier his transition was with Bucky’s help, and all of the advice Bucky had given him. Pietro pulled away, unable to stop grinning. “It is good to see you, Bucky. This is Wanda, my sister. Wanda, this is Bucky, my mentor.”

 

Reaching out a hand to shake with a wink, Bucky said, “So this is the Wanda I’ve heard so much about. She’s beautiful.” Wanda flushed while Pietro jokingly scowled. Bucky simply snickered, reaching out to put a hand on Pietro’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you too, kid. I missed you. Staying out of trouble?” he asked. His aura shone pink and light blue, and his eyes glimmered with happiness.

 

It was odd to see Bucky so open and easy to read, but, then again, he was human now. Pietro wiggled his hand back and forth in the air as he said “Eeeehh….”, earning a bright laugh from Bucky. Pietro laughed as well, hope and excitement spreading through him. Now that Pietro could visit any time he wanted, and Wanda would be living in the same building, Pietro hoped to be able to see a lot of his old friend. Looking past Bucky, Pietro said, “Is this Steve?” He had never watched over Steve, but the blond hair and blue eyes made it easy to guess who he was.

 

Bucky grinned, cheeks pinking. “Yea, that’s my Steve. Just as big of a pain in my ass as ever.” Steve scoffed theatrically while Pietro snickered, remembering years of seeing Bucky fret and hover.

 

Pietro nodded to Steve. “It is nice to finally meet you after listening to this one gush about you for years,” he whispered theatrically. Steve snickered loudly while Bucky spluttered, and Wanda flicked Pietro on the ear to scold him. Pietro stuck his tongue out at her, but couldn’t stop his smile, feeling peace in his Grace for the first time in years.

 

* * *

 

2014- June

 

It wasn’t until two months later that Bucky came to live with Steve, satisfied that he would not harm the other man. Steve had never once questioned that Bucky was ready, but Bucky had insisted, saying that he would not be able to even sleep without the worry of harming Steve while he was coming out of some nightmare. Sam had agreed, which confused and- if he was being honest- hurt Steve, but it had effectively stopped his arguing. He wanted Bucky to be happy and comfortable more than anything, and if he had to postpone some of his own feelings of happiness, that was more than fair.

 

That didn’t mean that Steve didn’t miss Bucky when he wasn’t there (in the short amounts of time that they were apart), or wish that Bucky was living in his apartment, taking up his couch and eating his food. Being around Bucky felt so _right_ , and it was a feeling that Steve was quickly becoming addicted to. He relished every smile form Bucky, as rare as they were, and found himself restraining himself from unnecessary touches more often than not. Steve knew, just _knew_ , that he was digging himself a hole that was too deep to climb out of, but he couldn’t be bothered enough to stop. He would deal with it, whatever came of this.

 

As the doors of the elevator opened up on their floor, Bucky whistled, throwing Steve a small grin. “Wow, nice digs,” he paused, looking back again at Steve as he walked forward, an uncertain edge coming to his voice, “It’s certainly a step up, right?”

 

Steve grinned back, shaking his head slightly. Bucky, though he now had all of his memories of Steve back, was still never quite sure if he was remembering things right. But he was trying, and it made Steve’s heart swell; he didn’t mind retelling memories or confirming facts. “Sure is. When I first saw the place I could hardly believe my eyes. Hell of a lot bigger than any place I’ve even visited.”

 

Bucky nodded, already walking around and exploring the kitchen, the living room, the balcony- he was like a toddler being released into a park. Steve leaned against the wall, a fond smile on his face, as he watched Bucky roam around, the brunet making exclamations or crass comments on things he found amusing or ridiculous. “You searched every corner yet?” Steve called out jokingly.

 

As he returned to the living room, Bucky scoffed, saying, “Please, like you didn’t run around like a kid in a candy shop your first day here.”

 

Shrugging, Steve responded, “Maybe I did, but I’m sure I was still more mature than you.”

 

“Is that how it is?” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes playfully as he stalked towards Steve. Both he and Bucky were in extraordinarily good moods now that he was finally out of the medical wing, and Bucky melded almost seamlessly into Steve’s home.

 

His lips twitched, skin thrumming, as Steve affirmed, “That’s how it is,” lifting his chin as he stepped close towards Bucky as well.

 

Bucky smirked, teasing, “Well, how about I _show_ you who’s more ma-”

 

The sound of the elevator interrupted Bucky, and they turned around to look as the doors opened to show Sam and Pepper, of all people. Tilting his head, but still offering a smile, Steve said, “Hey, guys, come on in.” The two returned his grin with waves and smiles of their own, stepping into the hallway and coming into the living room. Steve saw Bucky immediately stand up straighter out of the corner of his eyes, and gave him a worried glance, but Bucky was staring intently at the two visitors.

 

Pepper was the first to speak. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Pepper Potts; I run Tony’s company and keep him in line,” she greeted pleasantly, extending a hand to Bucky. Bucky clenched his jaw and shook it, eyes flickering between her hand and her face.

 

“I’m Bucky,” he said shortly, letting go of her hand quickly and tucking it into his sweatshirt pocket. Steve frowned, wondering why Bucky was so on edge all of a sudden. He was on the verge of being rude, which Pepper of all people didn’t deserve. But Bucky’s face was void of expression, shuttered and closed off, offering no clues as to the source of his uneasiness.

 

Hoping to reduce the tension, Steve asked them, “So what brings you guys to visit?”

 

Sam and Pepper exchanged an unreadable glance, before Pepper turned back to them. “We have something to tell you, but we need you to promise to hear us out before reacting.”

 

Steve could feel Bucky tensing up beside him, already on guard and ready to either fight or flee, but he simply nodded, running a hand lightly down Bucky’s right arm. “Of course, anything you have to say you can tell us.”

 

Huffing, Sam shook his head. “You might regret saying that.” Steve raised his eyebrow, waiting patiently. “You see, ah, we’re not really… we’re not really human.” Sam finally said, setting his jaw and looking up to meet Steve’s eyes.

 

Bucky raised both eyebrows, his face a picture disbelief and maybe some trepidation. “Not really human? What’s that mean?” he asked harshly, watching both of them carefully. He not-so-subtly shifted so that his body was angled towards them, between them and Steve. Steve sighed softly, fond exasperation curling through the apprehension. It seemed that Bucky would never stop trying to protect him, no matter the situation.

 

Placing a calming hand on Bucky’s right shoulder, Steve nodded at Sam. “Explain, please.” His voice was firm yet gentle; Sam was still his friend, at least until he proved otherwise.

 

“We’re Nephilim.” Pepper answered evenly, eyes focused on Bucky for his reaction.

 

It was immediate and visceral, and most likely not completely voluntary. Bucky jerked as if someone had slapped him, and he immediately took two hasty steps back, pushing Steve with him. His lips curled up in a snarl, and his metal hand clenched into a fist, gears whirring. “What are you _abominations_ doing here?” he hissed. Steve watched him with wide eyes, startled and more than a bit confused (and, okay, maybe a bit… _excited_ , but this was _not the time_ ). His eyes flickered between Bucky and the two… Nephilim? What the hell even was that?... completely thrown.

 

Sam winced, and Pepper frowned slightly. “Look, man, not all Nephilim are bad.” Bucky scoffed, but Sam held up a hand, now glaring fiercely at Bucky. “No, you listen to me, Bucky Barnes, and you listen well. I have been watching over Steve for years, while you were busy wandering around Europe.” Bucky twitched slightly at that, but didn’t stop glaring. “I heard news of what had happened to you, and decided to take Steve’s guardianship on myself. Then, imagine my surprise when I moved to the Tower with him and found yet another one of my kind already here.” He gestured to Pepper.

 

She nodded, looking as cool and collected as she always did. “I came to work for Tony years and years ago, for the same reason. I could tell that he needed more guidance than what Heaven was able to provide, especially with how… unhealthy Heaven had gotten,” she said delicately. “I wanted to be able to protect him, since I could see how much he had to give to the world.”

 

Though he was surely still somewhat in shock, Steve nodded. It all seemed so… noble, and caring. “Bucky, what’s wrong? Why is this such a bad thing?” Steve murmured. Sam had been a friend to him for years now; there was no other (well, except for Bucky, now) that he trusted more. And he respected the hell out of Pepper; she was striking and competent and strong, and even managed to control most of Tony’s wild ideas.

 

He could see Bucky bristling, and it wasn’t hard to imagine wings puffing out behind him. “Nephilim are half Angel, half human monsters. They have no soul, and therefore are faithless and loveless. They are to be destroyed on sight.” The way Bucky was speaking set Steve’s teeth on edge; it sounded militaristic, like he was reciting a mission-to-kill briefing.

 

“No one is destroying anything,” Steve said firmly, wrapping a hand around Bucky’s bicep. “Sam and Pepper have been nothing but kind, helpful, and selfless since I’ve known them. Bucky, you’re smart enough to know that they mean no harm.” He started at Bucky until ice-blue eyes met his own and flashed away again.

 

Pepper spoke up again, her voice soothing and melodic. “Bucky, he’s right. We mean no harm to anyone in this Tower, least of all you or Steve. Please, you have to trust us.” Both she and Steve were looking at Bucky pleadingly, while Sam gave him an understanding smile.

 

But Bucky was already looking at the floor, deflating and curling into himself. “I… okay, Steve, okay. Not even sure I _could_ hold my own against them nowadays, to be honest,” he muttered resignedly, gesturing carelessly to himself, his laugh sounding strained. Bucky shrunk away from where he had been leaning against Steve, eyes flicking between him and Sam. “I’m just gonna… I’m gonna go lie down.”

 

Steve nodded slowly, concerned and a little heart-broken as he watched Bucky slink away to the second bedroom. He wasn’t sure why Bucky had reacted the way he had, or why he seemed to back down so quickly and become… _fragile_ again. He watched the hallway into which Bucky had disappeared for several moments, resisting the urge to run and comfort Bucky, before Sam cleared his throat and said, “Y’all are gonna have to have a talk about… whatever this is between you two… sooner or later.”

 

“Huh?” Steve asked, slowly bringing his attention back to Sam. “There’s not… what’s between us?” They were friends, or at least, Steve was trying to be, and now their entire history was there again between them, a deeper bond than anyone could imagine. But what was there to talk about?

 

Sam merely shook his head, refusing to elaborate as he and Pepper shared an exasperated glance.

 

* * *

 

Ever since Sam and Pepper’s confession, Bucky had been acting… strange. It was hardly anything, and Steve would never have noticed it if he wasn’t so in tune to Bucky’s habits and expressions. But he shied away from touch even more than normal, fell completely silent whenever Sam or Pepper were nearby, and Steve often caught Bucky staring at him with a mixture of sadness and exhaustion, as if he was seeing something he thought was beyond his control.

 

Steve lost his patience after ten days of constant tip-toeing, awkward glances, and flinching away from any contact. Something big was obviously bothering Bucky, and it now was affecting Steve, not only irritating him but _hurting_ him, too. Bucky was… well, Bucky was special, the most important person in Steve’s life, and Steve could feel him slipping further away each day. Even if it was never more than this, Steve simply didn’t want his life without Bucky in it anymore. So, purposefully coming into Bucky’s bedroom, Steve closed the door behind him, watching as Bucky sat up on the bed on which he had previously been lounging.

 

“What’s up?” Bucky asked, eyeing the closed door warily. He shifted tensely, hackles obviously still somewhat raised from earlier.

 

Crossing his arms, Steve said, “I could ask you the same thing.” Talking about his feelings, rather than beating them into a punching bag, was never easy for Steve, so his goal was to simply get his point across as quickly and clearly as possible.

 

Bucky furrowed his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Steve sighed, willing himself some patience. “You’ve been on edge around me for almost two weeks, and it’s driving me crazy,” he explained.

 

“I have not been-” Bucky started to protest weakly, though Steve could see that Bucky didn’t even believe that himself.

 

Shaking his head, Steve plowed forward. “Something is wrong, and I just wish you would tell me what it is so that I could fix it. I know that this has been tough, I really do, but I just want you to _talk_ to me, Buck, I want-”

 

“Well why don’t you just go talk to Sam, then?” Bucky shot back, immediately wincing, seeming to regret saying that.

 

Steve gaped for a moment, at a loss for words, before he uncrossed his arms and took a few soft steps forward. “Is this… do you not like Sam? Do you not want me to spend time with him?” he asked, unsure how he felt about that. On one hand, it aggravated him, to think that Bucky assumed he could say what Steve did in his free time. On the other, the fact that Bucky maybe meant that he wanted to have Steve to himself… well, it made his stomach flutter, which he ignored.

 

Shaking his head rapidly, Bucky rushed to say, “No, no, Sam is… he’s good for you. A good man. Even if he is a mo- a Nephilim.” Bucky didn’t meet Steve’s eyes as he said this, instead looking down at the bed spread he was sitting on. Steve opened his mouth to respond, but Bucky rolled on, either oblivious or uncaring. “I mean, I would have thought you had better sense than that- well actually, no, I wouldn’t, because you’re the most stubborn and reckless human I know- but, you know, if it makes you happy, then whatever, right?” Throughout his rant, Bucky’s frown had grown more tremulous, his voice wavering the slightest.

 

Steve furrowed his brow. “I… well, of course he makes me happy; he’s one of my best friends. The only friend I had for a while.” He hesitantly stepped closer to Bucky, wondering where Bucky was going with this, or what had brought it on. Was he… jealous of Sam? That’s what this sounded like, but there was no reason for him to feel so. Steve still considered him his best friend, no matter their history. Bucky wasn’t an Angel anymore, and Steve _thought_ they were friends but… Bucky had been keeping his distance, especially recently, and Steve couldn’t deny that the desire to be near Bucky was something more than friendship. But Bucky was so hard to _read_ ….

 

Bucky let out a harsh laugh. “Yea, I know he was. I was too busy running around like a maniac without my memories to be there for you.” Steve jerked back from him, the sharp tone in is voice startling him. “I know Sam is much better than I am; even if he’s not even supposed to exist, at least he’s not a broken failure of an ex-Angel.” Bucky’s voice thickened, and he rubbed irritably at his eyes. “I know I failed you, I _know_ I let you down. I’m glad that Sam was there to help you, I really am. It’s just that….” Bucky trailed off, gripping the bedsheets so tightly Steve thought they might rip. His face was contorted, panic and indecision and other emotions warring on his features. He didn’t finish his statement.

 

Walking carefully forward once again, Steve sunk down gently on the bed two feet away from Bucky. “You didn’t fail me,” he responded, earning a snort from Bucky. “Hey, I’m serious. You saved my _life_ Bucky, and not just in the bunker. I know, now, that I never would have made it past… hell, I would’ve died when I was only a toddler if it wasn’t for you.” Bucky shook his head, but made no move to respond. Steve ached to close the distance between them, to wrap Bucky in his arms and kiss his head, his cheek, his forehead, his lips, just keep kissing him until he could prove that he wasn’t broken or a failure.

 

But he couldn’t do that, couldn’t put that pressure or expectation on Bucky. So, instead, he took a deep breath, jumping out of the metaphorical plane. “You know, even though I didn’t know who you were, I… I still felt lost without you. After I woke up.” Bucky stilled beside him, glancing up at him through a curtain of hair. “I, uh… I felt pretty useless. And disconnected. I had lost seven years, you know? I had Sam, and then I moved into the Tower, so I had the team, but… it all felt superficial and false. I had dreams… nightmares, really, about the bunker. The explosion. About you,” Steve admitted, watching Bucky carefully.

 

The brunet was now staring fully at Steve, eyes wide but not revealing anything. Steve cleared his throat, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants as he continued, “I… did some pretty stupid things. Jumped out of planes without parachutes, put myself in harm’s way as a human shield for others, always put teammates before myself…. I almost died. Several times.” His throat closed up, as if it could prevent Steve from uttering the things that he had never told anyone, the things he had spent so long denying even to himself. But Bucky deserved to hear this, needed to have an explanation. “They call it passive suicidal ideation… Sam yelled that at me, once, while he was reaming me out for purposely falling three stories. I just… something was missing in my life, I couldn’t even figure out what it was, and I felt that I had lost everything that I ever had.” By the time he had finished speaking, his eyes were burning, a mix of shame and relief and desperation making him shake.

 

Bucky was now gaping at him in horror. “Oh my God… Steve, Stevie _no_ , how could you… I wouldn’t have even….” He wrapped his arms around himself, a habit he had started during therapy and hadn’t been able to stop. “Please don’t ever, _ever_ , think that again. I fought so hard to keep you alive, to protect and save you. You aren’t useless; you’re so _good_ , your soul is the purest I’d ever seen, remember? I couldn’t… I _can’t_ lose you….”

 

Biting his cheek fiercely to keep his own emotions at bay, Steve tentatively wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. Bucky followed passively, pressing himself into Steve’s warmth. “No, Bucky, I don’t think that anymore. Ever since you first came to me, I… I felt alive for the first time in _years_ ,” Steve murmured, unable to resist pressing a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head.

 

Bucky shivered slightly. “That’s good. And… don’t ever think you have nothing. You’ll have me, always.”

 

Steve chuckled at that, squeezing Bucky tighter. “I know.” Bucky was warm and soft, his body folding up against Steve’s perfectly. Bucky had spoken with derision of Fate several times, but Steve couldn’t help but think that if this is where Fate got them, then perhaps it wasn’t so terrible.

 

There was silence then, and Bucky was biting his lip, as if deliberating. After almost five minutes, Bucky said, in a voice so quiet Steve almost didn’t hear, “I loved you even then, even when I wasn’t supposed to.”

 

Freezing, Steve stopped breathing, his heart skipping a beat. He remembered Natasha saying something similar, and he looked down at Bucky, who hadn’t moved. Bucky had told Steve all about Heaven, all of the ridiculous rules for Angels and how it had gotten worse and worse for those that lived there. Affection was an ‘unnecessary emotion’, though Bucky had confessed to caring too much for several of his charges. But love was… ‘ _love was not something Angels had in them’_ , Bucky had said, eyes not meeting Steve’s and voice going quiet.

 

It was all too telling, now, after the fact. “What do you mean, Bucky?” Steve asked carefully, making sure his tone was even, though Bucky could probably easily hear how hard Steve’s heart was pounding.

 

Starting to pull away from Steve, Bucky whispered, “It’s… it was a while ago, and you have friends here, and- and you have Sam,” Bucky got up and walked to the opposite side of the room, hunching his shoulders like he could hide from Steve, “I just… you were so perfect to me, and I would do _anything_ for you, you were the first charge that I ever- so… I don’t expect you to… I mean, _look_ at me….” Bucky’s ramblings got even quieter as he spoke, looking anywhere but Steve.

 

Mouth gaping, eyes wide, lungs frozen, Steve couldn’t do anything but stare. He just… wasn’t comprehending what this meant. Bucky… loved him? As just a charge- a rather special human- or… or in the same way (Steve was quickly finding out) that Steve did? Steve’s silence just made Bucky shake his head again, harder now, turning away from the bed. But Steve slowly stood up, walking over to where Bucky was instantly watching him with wary eyes. Telegraphing his movements, Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky, pulling him in tight to his chest.

 

“I think…” Steve said quietly, dipping his head to meet Bucky’s eyes, “that I loved you even before I knew you were there. There was always this… this warmth, a central part of me that always _knew_. It’s what was missing these years without you. And over these past two months… well, it’s obvious that it’s back in full force.”

 

Bucky’s eyes were wider than Steve had ever seen them, running back and forth over Steve’s face. “You mean….” he started, voice failing him.

 

Instead of fumbling his way through more words that didn’t even make sense to him, Steve pressed forwards against Bucky, gently crowding him against the wall. “I mean this,” he murmured, before gently meeting Bucky’s lips with his own.

 

Bucky inhaled sharply, immediately pushing back against Steve’s lips, hands coming up to thread through Steve’s hair. The kiss wasn’t intense or heated, just soft and needy and filled with a love that neither of them could put into words. Steve pulled back and smiled softly at Bucky, who returned it with a grin of his own, before simply pulling Bucky into a tight hug, resting his head against Bucky’s.

 

It felt like… it felt like every cheesy metaphor that Steve had ever heard. It felt like coming home, like fireworks in his chest, like his entire body was lit up with such a bright light that it rivaled Grace; surely Bucky could see it. He held onto Bucky as if his life depended on it, and thanked every Angel and God that was up there that he had been given this second chance.

 

~~*~~

 

Breathing in Steve’s scent, Bucky tightened his arms around him, feeling so weightless and bright that it almost felt like he had his Grace back, that he could spread his wings and take flight at any moment. He knew that he couldn’t, that he wouldn’t ever be able to again, but this…. This was love, and it was more powerful than any amount of Grace he’d ever felt. This was more than enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some light smut in this chapter.

_I hope that one day_

_you can see_

_that it was all worth it,_

_and that I do not blame you._

_One day I hope_

_to see the same love for you_

_in your eyes_

_as there is in mine._

 

2017

 

Light came streaming through the window, illuminating the two figures lying tangled on the bed. Birds chirped sweetly, a lawnmower roared somewhere in the mid-distance, and the whole scene was one of perfect domestic bliss. If one were to look in the window right now, they would never be able to tell the kind of horrible things each of the men had had to see in their life. There was no remembrance or signs of suffering; no dark patches stained the life the two had managed to build themselves.

 

And that was the way they liked it- Steve didn't want any war memorabilia sitting around, and Bucky certainly didn't want anything even remotely referencing religion or Angels in their home.

 

Because the two had finally managed to make a home together, despite all that had happened. It was a nebulous thing at the best of times, both feeling that it could be ripped from them at a moment's notice, like so many other things had been. It hadn’t happened, nor was it likely, but with lives like theirs nothing was impossible.

 

Bucky stirred slightly, shifting under the covers, and burrowed his head further into the gap between Steve’s shoulder and neck. The movement caused Steve to blink his eyes open, the confused look draining into something warm and affectionate as he looked down at the brunet. Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s head, then another, and another, and continued, moving down the side of his head until he reached Bucky’s mouth.

 

Bucky was awake at this point, and he eagerly turned his face towards Steve, lips pressing to Steve’s with a small sigh. Bucky kissed Steve three more times before pulling back, a soft smile stretching his lips. “Good morning.” he murmured, a finger coming up absentmindedly to trace the freckles on Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Morning.” Steve murmured back, burying his nose in soft brown strands of hair. “I love you.”

 

Chuckling, Bucky dropped a kiss on Steve’s warm shoulder, replying, “I love you, too.” Steve had made it his mission to tell Bucky this multiple times a day, and it never stopped giving Bucky a thrill hearing it. “You know, they say that every freckle is a kiss from an angel.” Bucky said, lips once again meeting Steve’s skin. “Do you think I can still give you more freckles?”

 

Fingers now tangled in Bucky’s hair, Steve shook with quiet laughter. “I don’t know, but I’m willing to try. I-” Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a happy sigh, Bucky’s soft lips now working their way up the side of Steve’s neck. A slight graze of teeth joined the petal softness of Bucky’s lips, and Steve shivered, using his arms to pull Bucky in closer, entangling their legs together. Bucky’s mouth moved back up to Steve’s ear, and the blonde groaned softly, hands coming up to tug at soft brown strands of hair.

 

Steve swallowed Bucky’s responding moan, hips rolling smoothly against the other man’s, both of them now aroused and panting. The atmosphere wasn’t heated or urgent, the soft light and quiet slide of the sheets creating a soft bubble around the two men. Their kisses were heated but gentle, their hands petting instead of gripping, filled with peace instead of need. Bucky sighed as Steve kissed down his chest, light flicks of his tongue making Bucky’s muscles jump. Soon he was taking Bucky into his mouth, prompting another moan from the brunet. Hands, one warm flesh and one smooth metal, gripped Steve’s hair, guiding but not pushing. Steve’s mouth was soft heat and teasing tongue, nothing forceful about it. It still didn’t take long for Bucky to crash over the edge, but Steve worked him through it, hands tracing patterns on his hips.

 

As soon as he could open his eyes, Bucky reached down, enveloping Steve in his metal hand. The blond jumped at the cold at first, before his eyes fluttered closed in pleasure, the differences in temperature and texture making everything so much more intense. Bucky leaned over and kissed Steve firmly, tongues stroking against each other and teeth nipping softly every so often, and within a few minutes Steve was finished, a groan escaping from his throat as waves of pleasure coursed through him. Bucky immediately curled up next to Steve, left arm thrown over him and head resting over his heart. Steve gently rubbed Bucky’s back, the two falling into silence, merely watching the other with small smiles.

 

At this moment, both men couldn’t be happier.

 

Some days were rough. More often than not, either Bucky or Steve would wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Bucky still couldn’t go to the doctor’s without Steve, and fireworks still made Steve breathe harsher and relocate to his basement. The two of them were fucked up, but not beyond repair. As long as they had each other, they would be able to make it. In reality, that’s the way it had always been- even when Steve had nothing, he had had Bucky, and even when Bucky was lost with nothing tangible to tie himself down to, Steve had been there as a constant. It was like poetry, tragic yet rhythmic in its beauty.

 

Their support network helped incredibly. Tony, offering to pay any and all expenses until the end of days, throwing around money his way of showing his love. Pepper, with her gentle smiles and calm control over Tony, occasionally letting a small, calming, golden light to diffuse in her presence. Rhodey assisted with work, keeping them busy when they needed to be and offering reprieves when they couldn’t, always dropping by after hours to check on them. Clint, though he was about as twisted up as another human could be, was always there to bring the two out of their funks, offering quiet companionship and laughter. Sam was a lifesaver, his calming atmosphere and soft words offering an end to numerous violent episodes, with tiny golden sparks appearing every so often when needed. Jane and Darcy, though they couldn’t fully understand the depth of the men’s history, were constantly visiting, fulfilling a need for “normal” human interaction that neither Steve nor Bucky knew that they had been missing. Wanda, through her shared experiences, helped them deal with the grief, and come closer to accepting their past.

 

And, of course, even though they mostly stayed up in Heaven, Natasha, Thor, Bruce, and Pietro were there, forever watching and Guarding, timeless and impossible and beautiful, keeping an eye out for their charges, their _family_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all who made this possible, and thank YOU, reader, for sticking with me :)

**Author's Note:**

> Aura colors:
> 
> Red- Anger  
> Burgundy- Shame, embarrassment  
> Orange- Annoyance  
> Burnt orange- Confusion  
> Light yellow- Joy  
> Yellow- Playfulness, hyper-awareness  
> Darker yellow- Shame  
> Pale green- Disgust, revulsion  
> Lime green- Nervousness, apprehension  
> Green- Envy  
> Dark green- Boredom, sleepiness  
> Aqua- Excitement  
> Light blue- Happiness, content  
> Blue- Calm  
> Dark blue- Sadness, hurt  
> Lavender- Hopeful, anxious  
> Purple- Pride, confidence  
> Magenta- Thankful  
> Pink- Love, intimacy  
> Hot pink- amusement, humor  
> Brown- Fear  
> Black- Grief, self-hatred  
> Grey- Loneliness, missing someone


End file.
